\fM\ 


<'  ^* 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

ROSEMARY  LIVSEY 


A  SET  OF  SIX 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


Almateb's  Folly 

An  Outcast  of  the  Islands 

Chance 

Falk 

Lord  Jim  :  A  Romance 

Mirror  of  the  Sea,  The 

Nigger  of  the  "Narcissus,"  The 

Nostromo:  a  Tale  of  the  Seaboabd 

Point  of  Honor,  The 

Some  Reminiscences 

Secret  Agent,  The 

Tales  of  Unrest 

'TwixT  Land  and  Sea 

Typhoon  and  Other  Stories 

T'nuer  Western  Eyes 

Youth  :  A  Narrative 

WITH  FORD  M.  HUEFFER 

Romance  :  A  Novel 

The  Inheritors:  An  Extravagant  Stort 


A  SET  OF  SIX 


BY 


JOSEPH  CONRAD 


Les  petites  marionnettet 

Font,  font,  jont, 
Trois  petits  tours 

Ei  puis  s'en  cont. 

NCRSEBY  RHTM« 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLED  AY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
Doubled  AY,  Page  &  Company 


COmtlGBT,  1907.  1908,  BT  JOSCTH  CONHiD 


To 
MISS  M.  H.  M.  CAPES 


CONTENTS 

FAOB 

Gaspar  Ruiz 3 

The  Informer 89 

The  Brute 129 

An  Anarchist 165 

The  Duel 201 

II  Conde 331 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

"  The  Duel,''  the  longest  story  in  this  volume^  has 
appeared  already  some  years  ago  under  the  title  "  The 
Point  of  Honor"  in  the  form  of  a  small  book  adorned 
by  a  few  clever  illustrations;  but  at  my  urgent  request 
Messrs.  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.  have  agreed  to 
reprint  it  in  its  proper  place  in  the  "Set  of  Six," 
under  the  title  it  bore  in  the  first  English  edition. 

I  don't  think  there  is  anything  objectionable  in 
this  revival.  On  the  contrary.  The  choice  lay  betiveen 
restoring  that  tale  to  its  proper  home  and  surroundings 
and  the  cutting  down  of  the  '"Set  of  Six"  to  a  "Set  of 
Five." 

But  the  "Set  of  Six"  if  not  an  organic  whole,  is  a 
homogeneous  group  written  with  a  certain  unity  of 
method.  Moreover  "The  Duel"  is,  so  far,  my  only 
attempt  at  historical  fiction:  as  earnest  an  attempt 
as  if  the  work  were  ten  times  its  size.  To  see  it 
dropped  out  of  its  place  in  the  collection  would  have 
been  very  painful  to  my  parental  feelings. 

The  return  of  this  tale  to  the  light  of  day  has  made 
me  happy.     The  buyers  of  the  volume  will  obtain 


X  AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

a  good  many  more  pages  for  their  money — and  that 
surely  cannot  be  made  a  ground  of  complaint.  Those 
who  have  read  the  tale  on  its  first  appearance  by  itself 
in  the  form  of  a  little  book  can  easily  skip  it  in  the 
collection.  As  to  the  possessors  of  the  little  book 
they  may  draw  comfort  from  tJie  thought  that  they  own 
something  which  in  time  is  likely  to  become  a  bibli- 
ographical curiosity  of  some  value. 

The  readers  who  may  feel  shocked  or  annoyed  at 
meeting  an  old  acquaintance  under  another  name  are 
begged  to  accept  my  apologies.  This  is  entirely  my 
own  doing,  I  have  insisted  on  the  reinstatement 
of  the  original  title  as  if  it  were  something  of  extreme 
importance.  Why  it  should  appear  so  to  me  I  can't 
explain  very  well.  It  is  a  matter  of  sentiment  in 
ivhich  I  have  been  very  kindly  humoured  by  Messrs. 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.  It  was  an  amiable  weak- 
ness on  their  part  which  my  readers,  who  I  trust  are 
also  my  friends,  vdll  scarcely  count  them  for  a  criine. 

Joseph  Conrad. 


A  ROMANTIC  TALE 


CASPAR  RUIZ 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  war  raises  many  strange 
characters  out  of  the  obscurity  which  is  the 
common  lot  of  humble  lives  in  an  undisturbed 
state  of  society. 

Certain  individualities  grow  into  fame  through  their 
vices  and  their  virtues,  or  simply  by  their  actions, 
which  may  have  a  temporary  importance;  and  then  they 
become  forgotten.  The  names  of  a  few  leaders  alone 
survive  the  end  of  armed  strife  and  are  further  pre- 
served in  history;  so  that,  vanishing  from  men's  active 
memories,  they  still  exist  in  books. 

The  name  of  Ceneral  Santierra  attained  that  cold 
paper-and-ink  immortality.  He  was  a  South  American, 
of  good  family,  and  the  books  published  in  his  lifetime 
numbered  him  amongst  the  liberators  of  that  continent 
from  the  oppressive  rule  of  Spain. 

That  long  contest,  waged  for  independence  on  one 
side  and  for  dominion  on  the  other,  developed  in  the 
course  of  years  and  the  vicissitudes  of  changing  fortune 
the  fierceness  and  inhumanity  of  a  struggle  for  life.  All 
feelings  of  pity  and  compassion  disappeared  in  the 

s 


4  A  SET  OF  SIX 

growth  of  political  hatred.  And,  as  is  usual  in  war,  the 
mass  of  the  people,  who  had  the  least  to  gain  by  the 
issue,  suffered  most  in  their  obscure  persons  and  their 
humble  fortunes. 

General  Santierra  began  his  service  as  lieutenant  in 
the  patriot  army  raised  and  commanded  by  the  famous 
San  Martin,  afterward  conqueror  of  Lima  and  liber- 
ator of  Peru.  A  great  battle  had  just  been  fought  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  Bio-Bio.  Amongst  the  prisoners 
made  upon  the  routed  Royalist  troops  there  was  a 
soldier  called  Caspar  Ruiz.  His  powerful  build  and  his 
big  head  rendered  him  remarkable  amongst  his  fellow- 
captives.  The  personality  of  the  man  was  unmistak- 
able. Some  months  before  he  had  been  missed  from  the 
ranks  of  Republican  troops  after  one  of  the  many  skir- 
mishes which  preceded  the  great  battle.  And  now,  hav- 
ing been  captured  arms  in  hand  amongst  Royalists,  he 
could  expect  no  other  fate  but  to  be  shot  as  a  deserter. 

Caspar  Ruiz,  however,  was  not  a  deserter;  his  mind 
was  hardly  active  enough  to  take  a  discriminating  view 
of  the  advantages  or  perils  of  treachery.  Why  should 
he  change  sides.''  He  had  really  been  made  a  prisoner, 
had  suffered  ill-usage  and  many  privations.  Neither 
side  showed  tenderness  to  its  adversaries.  There  came 
a  day  when  he  was  ordered,  together  with  some  other 
captured  rebels,  to  march  in  the  front  rank  of  the  Royal 
troops.  A  musket  had  been  thrust  into  his  hands. 
He  had  taken  it.     He  had  marched.     He  did  not  want 


CASPAR  RUIZ  5 

to  be  killed  with  circumstances  of  peculiar  atrocity  for 
refusing  to  march.  He  did  not  understand  heroism, 
but  it  was  his  intention  to  throw  his  musket  away  at 
the  first  opportunity.  Meantime,  he  had  gone  on  load- 
ing and  firing,  from  fear  of  having  his  brains  blown  out, 
at  the  first  sign  of  unwillingness,  by  some  non-com- 
missioned officer  of  the  King  of  Spain.  He  tried  to 
set  forth  these  elementary  considerations  before  the 
sergeant  of  the  guard  set  over  him  and  some  twenty 
other  such  deserters,  who  had  been  condemned  sum- 
marily to  be  shot. 

It  was  in  the  quadrangle  of  the  fort  at  the  back  of 
the  batteries  which  command  the  roadstead  of  Val- 
paraiso. The  officer  who  had  identified  him  had  gone 
on  without  listening  to  his  protestations.  His  doom 
was  sealed;  his  hands  were  tied  very  tightly  together 
behind  his  back;  his  body  was  sore  all  over  from  the 
many  blows  with  sticks  and  butts  of  muskets  which  had 
hurried  him  along  on  the  painful  road  from  the  place  of 
his  capture  to  the  gate  of  the  fort.  This  was  the  only 
kind  of  systematic  attention  the  prisoners  had  received 
from  their  escort  during  a  four  days'  journey  across  a 
scantily  watered  tract  of  country.  At  the  crossings  of 
rare  streams  they  were  permitted  to  quench  their  thirst 
by  lapping  hurriedly  like  dogs.  In  the  evening  a  few 
scraps  of  meat  were  thrown  amongst  them  as  they 
dropped  down  dead-beat  upon  the  stony  ground  of  the 
halting-place. 


6  A  SET  OF  SIX 

As  he  stood  in  the  courtyard  of  the  castle  in  the 
early  morning,  after  having  been  driven  hard  all  night, 
Caspar  Ruiz*  throat  was  parched,  and  his  tongue  felt 
very  large  and  dry  in  his  mouth. 

And  Gaspar  Ruiz,  besides  being  very  thirsty,  was 
stirred  by  a  feeling  of  sluggish  anger,  which  he  could 
not  very  well  express,  as  though  the  vigour  of  his  spirit 
were  by  no  means  equal  to  the  strength  of  his  body. 

The  other  prisoners  in  the  batch  of  the  condemned 
hung  their  heads,  looking  obstinately  on  the  ground. 
But  Gaspar  Ruiz  kept  on  repeating:  "What  should  I 
desert  for  to  the  Royalists?  Why  should  I  desert? 
Tellme,  Estaban!" 

He  addressed  himself  to  the  sergeant,  who  happened 
to  belong  to  the  same  part  of  the  country  as  himself. 
But  the  sergeant,  after  shrugging  his  meagre  shoulders 
once,  paid  no  further  attention  to  the  deep  murmuring 
voice  at  his  back.  It  was  indeed  strange  that  Gaspar 
Ruiz  should  desert.  His  people  were  in  too  humble 
a  station  to  feel  much  the  disadvantages  of  any  form 
of  government.  There  was  no  reason  why  Gaspar  Ruiz 
should  wish  to  uphold  in  his  own  person  the  rule  of 
the  King  of  Spain.  Neither  had  he  been  anxious  to 
exert  himself  for  its  subversion.  He  had  joined  the 
side  of  Independence  in  an  extremely  reasonable  and 
natural  manner.  A  band  of  patriots  appeared  one 
morning  early,  surrounding  his  father's  ranche,  spearing 
the  watch-dogs  and  hamstringing  a  fat  cow  all  in  the 


CASPAR  RUIZ  7 

twinkling  of  an  eye,  to  the  cries  of  *'  Viva  la  Libertad!** 
Their  oflBcer  discoursed  of  Liberty  with  enthusiasm  and 
eloquence  after  a  long  and  refreshing  sleep.  When 
they  left  in  the  evening,  taking  with  them  some  of 
Ruiz,  the  father's,  best  horses  to  replace  their  own 
lamed  animals,  Gaspar  Ruiz  went  away  with  them, 
having  been  invited  pressingly  to  do  so  by  the  eloquent 
officer. 

Shortly  afterward  a  detachment  of  Royalist  troops, 
coming  to  pacify  the  district,  burnt  the  ranche,  carried 
off  the  remaining  horses  and  cattle,  and  having  thus 
deprived  the  old  people  of  all  their  wordly  possessions, 
left  them  sitting  under  a  bush  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
inestimable  boon  of  life. 

n 

Caspar  Ruiz,  condemned  to  death  as  a  deserter, 
was  not  thinking  either  of  his  native  place  or  of  his 
parents,  to  whom  he  had  been  a  good  son  on  account 
of  the  mildness  of  his  character  and  the  great  strength 
of  his  limbs.  The  practical  advantage  of  this  last  was 
made  still  more  valuable  to  his  father  by  his  obedient 
disposition.     Caspar  Ruiz  had  an  acquiescent  soul. 

But  it  was  stirred  now  to  a  sort  of  dim  revolt  by 
his  dislike  to  die  the  death  of  a  traitor.  He  was  not  a 
traitor.  He  said  again  to  the  sergeant:  "You  know 
I  did  not  desert,  Estaban.  You  know  I  remained 
behind  amongst  the  trees  with  three  others  to  keep 


8  A  SET  OF  SIX 

the  enemy  back  while  the  detachment  was  running 
away!" 

Lieutenant  Santierra,  little  more  than  a  boy  at  the 
time,  and  unused  as  yet  to  the  sanguinary  imbecilities 
of  a  state  of  war,  had  lingered  near-by,  as  if  fascinated 
by  the  sight  of  these  men  who  were  to  be  shot  pres- 
ently— "for  an  example" — as  the  Commandante  had 
said. 

The  sergeant,  without  deigning  to  look  at  the  pris- 
oner, addressed  himself  to  the  young  officer  with  a 
superior  smile: 

"Ten  men  would  not  have  been  enough  to  make 
him  a  prisoner,  mi  teniente.  Moreover,  the  other  three 
rejoined  the  detachment  after  dark.  Why  should  he, 
unwounded  and  the  strongest  of  them  all,  have  failed  to 
do  so?" 

"My  strength  is  as  nothing  against  a  mounted  man 
with  a  lasso,"  Gaspar  Ruiz  protested  eagerly.  "He 
dragged  me  behind  his  horse  for  half  a  mile." 

At  this  excellent  reason  the  sergeant  only  laughed 
contemptuously.  The  young  officer  hurried  away  after 
the  Commandante. 

Presently  the  adjutant  of  the  castle  came  by.  He 
was  a  truculent,  raw-boned  man  in  a  ragged  uniform. 
His  spluttering  voice  issued  out  of  a  flat,  yellow  face. 
The  sergeant  learned  from  him  that  the  condemned 
men  would  not  be  shot  till  sunset.  He  begged  then 
to  know  what  he  was  to  do  with  them  meantime. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  9 

The  adjutant  looked  savagely  round  the  courtyard, 
and,  pointing  to  the  door  of  a  small  dungeonlike 
guardroom,  receiving  light  and  air  through  one  heavily 
barred  window,  said:  "Drive  the  scoundrels  in  there." 

The  sergeant,  tightening  his  grip  upon  the  stick  he 
carried  in  virtue  of  his  rank,  executed  this  order  with 
alacrity  and  zeal.  He  hit  Caspar  Ruiz,  whose  move- 
ments were  slow,  over  his  head  and  shoulders.  Caspar 
Ruiz  stood  still  for  a  moment  under  the  shower  of 
blows,  biting  his  lip  thoughtfully  as  if  absorbed  by  a 
perplexing  mental  process — then  followed  the  others 
without  haste.  The  door  was  locked,  and  the  adjutant 
carried  off  the  key. 

By  noon  the  heat  of  that  low  vaulted  place  crammed 
to  suffocation  had  become  unbearable.  The  prisoners 
crowded  toward  the  window,  begging  their  guards  for 
a  drop  of  water;  but  the  soldiers  remained  lying  in 
indolent  attitudes  wherever  there  was  a  little  shade 
under  a  wall,  while  the  sentry  sat  with  his  back  against 
the  door  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  raising  his  eyebrows 
philosophically  from  time  to  time.  Caspar  Ruiz  had 
pushed  his  way  to  the  window  with  irresistible  force. 
His  capacious  chest  needed  more  air  than  the  others ;  his 
big  face,  resting  with  its  chin  on  the  ledge,  pressed 
close  to  the  bars,  seemed  to  support  the  other  faces 
crowding  up  for  breath.  From  moaned  entreaties  they 
had  passed  to  desperate  cries,  and  the  tumultuous  howl- 
ing of  those  thirsty  men  obliged  a  young  officer  who 


10  "^  A  SET  OF  SIX 

was  just  then  crossing  the  courtyard  to  shout  in  order 
to  make  himself  heard. 

**  Why  don't  you  give  some  water  to  these  prisoners  ?  " 

The  sergeant,  with  an  air  of  surprised  innocence, 
excused  himself  by  the  remark  that  all  those  men  were 
condemned  to  die  in  a  very  few  hours. 

Lieutenant  Santierra  stamped  his  foot.  "They  are 
condemned  to  death,  not  to  torture,"  he  shouted. 
"Give  them  some  water  at  once." 

Impressed  by  this  appearance  of  anger,  the  soldiers 
bestirred  themselves,  and  the  sentry,  snatching  up  his 
musket,  stood  to  attention. 

But  when  a  couple  of  buckets  were  found  and  filled 
from  the  well,  it  was  discovered  that  they  could  not  be 
passed  through  the  bars,  which  were  set  too  close.  At 
the  prospect  of  quenching  their  thirst,  the  shrieks  of 
those  trampled  down  in  the  struggle  to  get  near  the 
opening  became  very  heartrending.  But  when  the 
soldiers  who  had  lifted  the  buckets  toward  the  window 
put  them  to  the  ground  again  helplessly,  the  yell  of 
disappointment  was  still  more  terrible. 

The  soldiers  of  the  army  of  Independence  were  not 
equipped  with  canteens.  A  small  tin  cup  was  found, 
but  its  approach  to  the  opening  caused  such  a  com- 
motion, such  yells  of  rage  and  pain  in  the  vague  mass 
of  limbs  behind  the  straining  faces  at  the  window,  that 
Lieutenant  Santierra  cried  out  hurriedly:  "No,  no — you 
must  open  the  door.  Sergeant." 


GASPAR  RUIZ  11 

The  sergeant,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  explained 
that  he  had  no  right  to  open  the  door  even  if  he  had 
had  the  key.  But  he  had  not  the  key.  The  adjutant 
of  the  garrison  kept  the  key.  Those  men  were  giving 
much  unnecessary  trouble,  since  they  had  to  die  at  sun- 
set in  any  case.  Why  they  had  not  been  shot  at  once 
early  in  the  morning  he  could  not  understand. 

Lieutenant  Santierra  kept  his  back  studiously  to  the 
window.  It  was  at  his  earnest  solicitations  that  the 
Commandanie  had  delayed  the  execution.  This  favour 
had  been  granted  to  him  in  consideration  of  his  dis- 
tinguished family  and  of  his  father's  high  position 
amongst  the  chiefs  of  the  Republican  party.  Lieuten- 
ant Santierra  believed  that  the  General  commanding 
would  visit  the  fort  some  time  in  the  afternoon,  and  he 
ingenuously  hoped  that  his  naive  intercession  would 
induce  that  severe  man  to  pardon  some,  at  least,  of 
those  criminals.  In  the  revulsion  of  his  feeling  his 
interference  stood  revealed  now  as  guilty  and  futile 
meddling.  It  appeared  to  him  obvious  that  the  Gen- 
eral would  never  even  consent  to  listen  to  his  petition. 
He  could  never  save  those  men,  and  he  had  only  made 
himself  responsible  for  the  sufferings  added  to  the 
cruelty  of  their  fate. 

"Then  go  at  once  and  get  the  key  from  the  ad- 
jutant," said  Lieutenant  Santierra. 

The  sergeant  shook  his  head  with  a  sort  of  bashful 
smile,  while  his  eyes  glanced  sideways  at  Gaspar  Ruiz* 


12  A  SET  OF  SIX 

face,  motionless  and  sileat,  staring  through  the  bars  at 
the  bottom  of  a  heap  of  other  haggard,  distorted,  yelHng 
faces. 

His  worship  the  Adjutant  de  Plaza,  the  sergeant 
murmured,  was  having  his  siesta;  and  supposing  that 
he,  the  sergeant,  would  be  allowed  access  to  him,  the 
only  result  he  expected  would  be  to  have  his  soul 
flogged  out  of  his  body  for  presuming  to  disturb  his 
worship's  repose.  He  made  a  deprecatory  movement 
with  his  hands,  and  stood  stock-still,  looking  down 
modestly  upon  his  brown  toes. 

Lieutenant  Santierra  glared  with  indignation,  but 
hesitated.  His  handsome  oval  face,  as  smooth  as  a 
girl's,  flushed  with  the  shame  of  his  perplexity.  Its 
nature  humiliated  his  spirit.  His  hairless  upper  lip 
trembled;  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  either  bursting 
into  a  fit  of  rage  or  into  tears  of  dismay. 

Fifty  years  later.  General  Santierra,  the  venerable 
relic  of  revolutionary  times,  was  well  able  to  remem- 
ber the  feelings  of  the  young  lieutenant.  Since  he  had 
given  up  riding  altogether,  and  found  it  difficult  to 
walk  beyond  the  limits  of  his  garden,  the  General's 
greatest  delight  was  to  entertain  in  his  house  the 
officers  of  the  foreign  men-of-war  visiting  the  harbour. 
For  Englishmen  he  had  a  preference,  as  for  old  com- 
panions in  arms.  English  naval  men  of  all  ranks 
accepted  his  hospitality  with  curiosity,  because  he  had 
known  Lord  Cochrane  and  had  taken  part,  on  board 


GASPAR  RUIZ  13 

the  patriot  squadron  commanded  by  that  marvellous 
seaman,  in  the  cutting  out  and  blockading  operations 
before  Callao — an  episode  of  unalloyed  glory  in  the 
wars  of  Independence  and  of  endless  honour  in  the 
fighting  tradition  of  Englishmen.  He  was  a  fair  lin- 
guist, this  ancient  survivor  of  the  Liberating  armies.  A 
trick  of  smoothing  his  long  white  beard  whenever  he 
was  short  of  a  word  in  French  or  English  imparted  an 
air  of  leisurely  dignity  to  the  tone  of  his  reminiscences. 

Ill 

"Yes,  my  friends,"  he  used  to  say  to  his  guests, 
"what  would  you  have.''  A  youth  of  seventeen  sum- 
mers, without  worldly  experience,  and  owing  my  rank 
only  to  the  glorious  patriotism  of  my  father,  may  God 
rest  his  soul.  I  suffered  immense  humiliation,  not  so 
much  from  the  disobedience  of  that  subordinate,  who, 
after  all,  was  responsible  for  those  prisoners;  but  I 
suffered  because,  like  the  boy  I  was,  I  myself  dreaded 
going  to  the  adjutant  for  the  key.  I  had  felt,  before, 
his  rough  and  cutting  tongue.  Being  quite  a  common 
fellow,  with  no  merit  except  his  savage  valour,  he  made 
me  feel  his  contempt  and  dislike  from  the  first  day  I 
joined  my  battalion  in  garrison  at  the  fort.  It  was  only 
a  fortnight  before !  I  would  have  confronted  him  sword 
in  hand,  but  I  shrank  from  the  mocking  brutality  of  his 
sneers. 

*'I  don't  remember  having  been  so  miserable  in  my 


14  A  SET  OF  SIX 

life  before  or  since.  The  torment  of  my  sensibility 
was  so  great  that  I  wished  the  sergeant  to  fall  dead  at 
my  feet,  and  the  stupid  soldiers  who  stared  at  me  to 
turn  into  corpses;  and  even  those  wretches  for  whom 
my  entreaties  had  procured  a  reprieve  I  wished  dead 
also,  because  I  could  not  face  them  without  shame.  A 
mephitic  heat  like  a  whiff  of  air  from  hell  came  out  of 
that  dark  place  in  which  they  were  confined.  Those  at 
the  window  who  had  heard  what  was  going  on  jeered  at 
me  in  very  desperation :  one  of  these  fellows,  gone  mad 
no  doubt,  kept  on  urging  me  volubly  to  order  the  sol- 
diers to  fire  through  the  window.  His  insane  loquacity 
made  my  heart  turn  faint.  And  my  feet  were  like  lead. 
There  was  no  higher  officer  to  whom  I  could  appeal. 
I  had  not  even  the  firmness  of  spirit  to  simply  go  away. 

**  Benumbed  by  my  remorse,  I  stood  with  my  back 
to  the  window.  You  must  not  suppose  that  all  this 
lasted  a  long  time.  How  long  could  it  have  been?  A 
minute.''  If  you  measured  by  mental  suffering  it  wa.'" 
like  a  hundred  years;  a  longer  time  than  all  my  life 
has  been  since.  No,  certainly,  it  was  not  so  much  as  a 
minute.  The  hoarse  screaming  of  those  miserable 
wretches  died  out  in  their  dry  throats,  and  then  sud- 
denly a  voice  spoke,  a  deep  voice  muttering  calmly. 
It  called  upon  me  to  turn  round. 

"That  voice,  seflores,  proceeded  from  the  head  of 
Gaspar  Ruiz.  Of  his  body  I  could  see  nothing.  Some 
of  his  fellow-captives  had  clambered  upon  his  back. 


GASPAR  RUIZ  15 

He  was  holding  them  up.  His  eyes  bhnked  without 
looking  at  me.  That  and  the  moving  of  his  lips  was  all 
he  seemed  able  to  manage  in  his  overloaded  state.  And 
when  I  turned  round,  this  head,  that  seemed  more  than 
human  size  resting  on  its  chin  under  a  multitude  of 
other  heads,  asked  me  whether  I  really  desired  to 
quench  the  thirst  of  the  captives. 

"I  said,  *Yes,  yes!'  eagerly,  and  came  up  quite 
close  to  the  window.  I  was  like  a  child,  and  did  not 
know  what  would  happen.  I  was  anxious  to  be  com- 
forted in  my  helplessness  and  remorse. 

*'  'Have  you  the  authority,  5^nor  teniente,  to  release  my 
wrists  from  their  bonds. f* '  Gaspar  Ruiz'  head  asked  me. 

"His  features  expressed  no  anxiety,  no  hope;  his 
heavy  eyelids  blinked  upon  his  eyes  that  looked  past 
me  straight  into  the  courtyard. 

*'As  if  in  an  ugly  dream,  I  spoke,  stammering: 
'What  do  you  mean.^  And  how  can  I  reach  the  bonds 
on  your  wrists  ? ' 

"*I  will  try  what  I  can  do,'  he  said;  and  then  that 
large  staring  head  moved  at  last,  and  all  the  wild  faces 
piled  up  in  that  window  disappeared,  tumbling  down. 
He  had  shaken  his  load  off  with  one  movement,  so 
strong  he  was. 

"And  he  had  not  only  shaken  it  off,  but  he  got  free 
of  the  crush  and  vanished  from  my  sight.  For  a 
moment  there  was  no  one  at  all  to  be  seen  at  the  win- 
dow.    He  had  swung  about,  butting  and  shouldering. 


16  A  SET  OF  SIX 

clearing  a  space  for  himself  in  the  only  way  he  could  do 
it  with  his  hands  tied  behind  his  back. 

"Finally,  backing  to  the  opening,  he  pushed  out  to 
me  between  the  bars  his  wrists,  lashed  with  many  turns 
of  rope.  His  hands,  very  swollen,  with  knotted  veins, 
looked  enormous  and  unwieldy.  I  saw  his  bent  back. 
It  was  very  broad.  His  voice  was  like  the  muttering 
of  a  bull. 

" '  Cut,  senor  teniente.     Cut ! ' 

"I  drew  my  sword,  my  new  unblunted  sword  that 
had  seen  no  service  as  yet,  and  severed  the  many  turns 
of  the  hide  rope.  I  did  this  without  knowing  the  why 
and  the  wherefore  of  my  action,  but  as  it  were  com- 
pelled by  my  faith  in  that  man.  The  sergeant  made  as 
if  to  cry  out,  but  astonishment  deprived  him  of  his 
voice,  and  he  remained  standing  with  his  mouth  open, 
as  if  overtaken  by  sudden  imbecility. 

"I  sheathed  my  sword  and  faced  the  soldiers.  An 
air  of  awestruck  expectation  had  replaced  their  usual 
listless  apathy.  I  heard  the  voice  of  Caspar  Ruiz 
shouting  inside,  but  the  w^ords  I  could  not  make  out 
plainly.  I  suppose  that  to  see  him  with  his  arms  free 
augmented  the  influence  of  his  strength:  I  mean  by 
this,  the  spiritual  influence  that  with  ignorant  people 
attaches  to  an  exceptional  degree  of  bodily  vigour.  In 
fact,  he  was  no  more  to  be  feared  than  before,  on 
account  of  the  numbness  of  his  arms  and  hands,  which 
lasted  for  some  time. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  17 

"The  sergeant  had  recovered  his  power  of  speech. 
'By  all  the  saints!'  he  cried,  'we  shall  have  to  get  a 
cavalry  man  with  a  lasso  to  secure  him  again,  if  he  is 
to  be  led  to  the  place  of  execution.  Nothing  less  than 
a  good  enlazador  on  a  good  horse  can  subdue  him. 
Your  worship  was  pleased  to  perform  a  very  mad  thing.' 

"I  had  nothing  to  say.  I  was  surprised  myself, 
and  I  felt  a  childish  curiosity  to  see  what  would  happen. 
But  the  sergeant  was  thinking  of  the  difficulty  of 
controlling  Caspar  Ruiz  when  the  time  for  making  an 
example  would  come. 

*"0r  perhaps,'  the  sergeant  pursued  vexedly,  *we 
shall  be  obliged  to  shoot  him  down  as  he  dashes  out 
when  the  door  is  opened.'  He  was  going  to  give  fur- 
ther vent  to  his  anxieties  as  to  the  proper  carrying  out 
of  the  sentence;  but  he  interrupted  himself  with  a 
sudden  exclamation,  snatched  a  musket  from  a  soldier, 
and  stood  watchful  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  window. 

IV 

**  Caspar  Ruiz  had  clambered  up  on  the  sill,  and  sat 
down  there  with  his  feet  against  the  thickness  of  the 
wall  and  his  knees  slightly  bent.  The  window  was  not 
quite  broad  enough  for  the  length  of  his  legs.  It 
appeared  to  my  crestfallen  perception  that  he  meant 
to  keep  the  window  all  to  himself.  He  seemed  to  be 
taking  up  a  comfortable  position.  Nobody  inside  dared 
to  approach  him  now  he  could  strike  with  his  hands. 


18  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"'Por  Dios!'  I  heard  the  sergeant  muttering  at  my 
elbow,  *  I  shall  shoot  him  through  the  head  now,  and 
get  rid  of  that  trouble.     He  is  a  condemned  man.' 

"At  that  I  looked  at  him  angrily.  'The  General  has 
not  confirmed  the  sentence,'  I  said,  though  I  knew  well 
in  my  heart  that  these  were  but  vain  words.  The  sen- 
tence required  no  confirmation.  'You  have  no  right  to 
shoot  him  unless  he  tries  to  escape,'  I  added  firmly. 

*"But  sangre  de  DiosT  the  sergeant  yelled  out, 
bringing  his  musket  up  to  the  shoulder,  'he  is  escaping 
now.     Look!' 

"But  I,  as  if  that  Caspar  Ruiz  had  cast  a  spell 
upon  me,  struck  the  musket  upward,  and  the  bullet 
flew  over  the  roofs  somewhere.  The  sergeant  dashed 
his  arm  to  the  ground  and  stared.  He  might  have  com- 
manded the  soldiers  to  fire,  but  he  did  not.  And  if  he 
had  he  would  not  have  been  obeyed,  I  think,  just  then. 

"With  his  feet  against  the  thickness  of  the  wall, 
and  his  hairy  hands  grasping  the  iron  bar,  Gaspar 
sat  still.  It  was  an  attitude.  Nothing  happened  for  a 
time.  And  suddenly  it  dawned  upon  us  that  he  was 
straightening  his  bowed  back  and  contracting  his  arms. 
His  lips  were  twisted  into  a  snarl.  Next  thing  we  per- 
ceived was  that  the  bar  of  forged  iron  was  being  bent 
slowly  by  the  mightiness  of  his  pull.  The  sun  was 
beating  full  upon  his  cramped,  unquivering  figure.  A 
shower  of  sweat-drops  burst  out  of  his  forehead. 
Watching  the  bar  grow  crooked,  I  saw  a  little  blood 


CASPAR  RUIZ  19 

ooze  from  under  his  finger-nails.  Then  he  let  go.  For 
a  moment  he  remained  all  huddled  up,  with  a  hanging 
head,  looking  drowsily  into  the  upturned  palms  of  his 
mighty  hands.  Indeed  he  seemed  to  have  dozed  off. 
Suddenly  he  flung  himself  backward  on  the  sill,  and 
setting  the  soles  of  his  bare  feet  against  the  other 
middle  bar,  he  bent  that  one,  too,  but  in  the  opposite 
direction  from  the  first. 

*'Such  was  his  strength,  which  in  this  case  relieved 
my  painful  feelings.  And  the  man  seemed  to  have 
done  nothing.  Except  for  the  change  of  position  in 
order  to  use  his  feet,  which  made  us  all  start  by  its 
swiftness,  my  recollection  is  that  of  immobility.  But  he 
had  bent  the  bars  wide  apart.  And  now  he  could  get 
out  if  he  liked;  but  he  dropped  his  legs  inward,  and  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder  beckoned  to  the  soldiers.  'Hand 
up  the  water,'  he  said.      'I  will  give  them  all  a  drink.' 

"He  was  obeyed.  For  a  moment  I  expected  man 
and  bucket  to  disappear,  overwhelmed  by  the  rush  of 
eagerness;  I  thought  they  would  pull  him  down  with 
their  teeth.  There  was  a  rush,  but  holding  the  bucket 
on  his  lap  he  repulsed  the  assault  of  those  wretches  by 
the  mere  swinging  of  his  feet.  They  flew  backward  at 
every  kick,  yelling  with  pain;  and  the  soldiers  laughed, 
gazing  at  the  window. 

"They  all  laughed,  holding  their  sides,  except  the 
sergeant,  who  was  gloomy  and  morose.  He  was  afraid 
the  prisoners  would  rise  and  break  out — which  would 


20  A  SET  OF  SIX 

have  been  a  bad  example.  But  there  was  no  fear  of 
that,  and  I  stood  myself  before  the  window  with  my 
drawn  sword.  When  sufficiently  tamed  by  the  strength 
of  Gaspar  Ruiz  they  came  up  one  by  one,  stretching 
their  necks  and  presenting  their  lips  to  the  edge  of  the 
bucket  which  the  strong  man  tilted  toward  them  from 
his  knees  with  an  extraordinary  air  of  charity,  gentle- 
ness, and  compassion.  That  benevolent  appearance 
was  of  course  the  effect  of  his  care  in  not  spilling  the 
water  and  of  his  attitude  as  he  sat  on  the  sill;  for,  if  a 
man  lingered  with  his  lips  glued  to  the  rim  of  the  bucket 
after  Gaspar  Ruiz  had  said  'You  have  had  enough,' 
there  would  be  no  tenderness  or  mercy  in  the  shove  of 
the  foot  which  would  send  him  groaning  and  doubled 
up  far  into  the  interior  of  the  prison,  where  he  would 
knock  down  two  or  three  others  before  he  fell  himself. 
They  came  up  to  him  again  and  again;  it  looked  as  if 
they  meant  to  drink  the  well  dry  before  going  to  their 
death;  but  the  soldiers  were  so  amused  by  Gaspar 
Ruiz'  systematic  proceedings  that  they  carried  the 
water  up  to  the  window  cheerfully. 

"When  the  adjutant  came  out  after  his  siesta  there 
was  some  trouble  over  this  affair,  I  can  assure  you. 
And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  the  General  whom  we 
expected  never  came  to  the  castle  that  day." 

The  guests  of  General  Santierra  unanimously  ex- 
pressed their  regret  that  the  man  of  such  strength  and 
patience  had  not  been  saved. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  21 

"He  was  not  saved  by  my  interference,"  said  the 
General.  "The  prisoners  were  led  to  execution  half  an 
hour  before  sunset.  Caspar  Ruiz,  contrary  to  the 
sergeant's  apprehensions,  gave  no  trouble.  There  was 
no  necessity  to  get  a  cavalry  man  with  a  lasso  in  order  to 
subdue  him,  as  if  he  were  a  wild  bull  of  the  campo.  I 
believe  he  marched  out  with  his  arms  free  amongst 
the  others  who  were  bound.  I  did  not  see.  I  was  not 
there.  I  had  been  put  under  arrest  for  interfering  with 
the  prisoner's  guard.  About  dusk,  sitting  dismally  in 
ray  quarters,  I  heard  three  volleys  fired,  and  thought 
that  I  should  never  hear  of  Caspar  Ruiz  again.  He  fell 
with  the  others.  But  we  were  to  hear  of  him  neverthe- 
less, though  the  sergeant  boasted  that,  as  he  lay  on  his 
face  expiring  or  dead  in  the  heap  of  the  slain,  he  had 
slashed  his  neck  with  a  sword.  He  had  done  this,  he 
said,  to  make  sure  of  ridding  the  world  of  a  dangerous 
traitor. 

"I  confess  to  you,  senores,  that  I  thought  of  that 
strong  man  with  a  sort  of  gratitude,  and  with  some 
admiration.  He  had  used  his  strength  honourably. 
There  dwelt,  then,  in  his  soul  no  fierceness  corresponding 
to  the  vigour  of  his  body." 


Caspar  Ruiz,  who  could  with  ease  bend  apart  the 
heavy  iron  bars  of  the  prison,  was  led  out  with  others  to 
summary  execution.     "Every  bullet  has  its  billet,'* 


22  A  SET  OF  SIX 

runs  the  proverb.  All  the  merit  of  proverbs  consists 
in  the  concise  and  picturesque  expression.  In  the 
surprise  of  our  minds  is  found  their  persuasiveness.  In 
other  words,  we  are  struck  and  convinced  by  the  shock. 

What  surprises  us  is  the  form,  not  the  substance. 
Proverbs  are  art — cheap  art.  As  a  general  rule  they 
are  not  trufe;  unless  indeed  they  happen  to  be  mere 
platitudes,  as  for  instance  the  proverb,  ''Half  a  loaf  is 
better  than  no  bread,"  or  '*  A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile." 
Some  proverbs  are  simply  imbecile,  others  are  immoral. 
That  one  evolved  out  of  the  naive  heart  of  the  great 
Russian  people,  "Man  discharges  the  piece,  but  God 
carries  the  bullet,"  is  piously  atrocious,  and  at  bitter 
variance  with  the  accepted  conception  of  a  compassion- 
ate God.  It  would  indeed  be  an  inconsistent  occupa- 
tion for  the  Guardian  of  the  poor,  the  innocent,  and  the 
helpless,  to  carry  the  bullet,  for  instance,  into  the  heart 
of  a  father. 

Gaspar  Ruiz  was  childless,  he  had  no  wife,  he  had 
never  been  in  love.  He  had  hardly  ever  spoken  to  a 
woman,  beyond  his  mother  and  the  ancient  negress  of 
the  household,  whose  wrinkled  skin  was  the  colour  of 
cinders,  and  whose  lean  body  was  bent  double  from  age. 
If  some  bullets  from  those  muskets  fired  off  at  fifteen 
paces  were  specifically  destined  for  the  heart  of  Gaspar 
Ruiz,  they  all  missed  their  billet.  One,  however,  car- 
ried away  a  small  piece  of  his  ear,  and  another  a  frag- 
ment of  flesh  from  his  shoulder. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  23 

A  red  and  unclouded  sun  setting  into  a  purple  ocean 
looked  with  a  fiery  stare  upon  the  enormous  wall  of 
the  Cordilleras,  worthy  witnesses  of  his  glorious  ex- 
tinction. But  it  is  inconceivable  that  it  should  have 
seen  the  antlike  men  busy  with  their  absurd  and  in- 
significant trials  of  killing  and  dying  for  reasons  that, 
apart  from  being  generally  childish,  were  also  imper- 
fectly understood.  It  did  light  up,  however,  the 
backs  of  the  firing  party  and  the  faces  of  the  condemned 
men.  Some  of  them  had  fallen  on  their  knees,  others 
remained  standing,  a  few  averted  their  heads  from  the 
levelled  barrels  of  muskets.  Caspar  Ruiz,  upright,  the 
burliest  of  them  all,  hung  his  big  shock  head.  The  low 
sun  dazzled  him  a  little,  and  he  counted  himself  a  dead 
man  already. 

He  fell  at  the  first  discharge.  He  fell  because  he 
thought  he  was  a  dead  man.  He  struck  the  ground 
heavily.  The  jar  of  the  fall  surprised  him.  "I  am  not 
dead  apparently,"  he  thought  to  himself,  when  he  heard 
the  execution  platoon  reloading  its  arms  at  the  word  of 
command.  It  was  then  that  the  hope  of  escape  dawned 
upon  him  for  the  first  time.  He  remained  lying 
stretched  out  with  rigid  limbs  under  the  weight  of  two 
bodies  collapsed  crosswise  upon  his  back. 

By  the  time  the  soldiers  had  fired  a  third  volley 
into  the  slightly  stirring  heaps  of  the  slain,  the  sun  had 
gone  out  of  sight,  and  almost  immediately  with  the 
darkening  of  the  ocean  dusk  fell  upon  the  coasts  of  the 


24  A  SET  OF  SIX 

young  Republic.  Above  the  gloom  of  the  lowlands  the 
snowy  peaks  of  the  Cordilleras  remained  luminous  and 
crimson  for  a  long  time.  The  soldiers  before  marching 
back  to  the  fort  sat  down  to  smoke. 

The  sergeant  with  a  naked  sword  in  his  hand  strolled 
away  by  himself  along  the  heap  of  the  dead.  He  was 
a  humane  man,  and  watched  for  any  stir  or  twitch  of 
limb  in  the  merciful  idea  of  plunging  the  point  of  his 
blade  into  any  body  giving  the  slightest  sign  of  life. 
But  none  of  the  bodies  afforded  him  an  opportunity  for 
the  display  of  this  charitable  intention.  Not  a  muscle 
twitched  amongst  them,  not  even  the  powerful  muscles 
of  Caspar  Ruiz,  who,  deluged  with  the  blood  of  his 
neighbours  and  shamming  death,  strove  to  appear  more 
lifeless  than  the  others. 

He  was  lying  face  down.  The  sergeant  recognized 
him  by  his  stature,  and  being  himself  a  very  small  man, 
looked  with  envy  and  contempt  at  the  prostration  of  so 
much  strength.  He  had  always  disliked  that  particular 
soldier.  Moved  by  an  obscure  animosity,  he  inflicted  a 
long  gash  across  the  neck  of  Caspar  Ruiz,  with  some 
vague  notion  of  making  sure  of  that  strong  man's  death, 
as  if  a  powerful  physique  were  more  able  to  resist  the 
bullets.  For  the  sergeant  had  no  doubt  that  Caspar 
Ruiz  had  been  shot  through  in  many  places.  Then  he 
passed  on,  and  shortly  afterward  marched  off  with  his 
men,  leaving  the  bodies  to  the  care  of  crows  and 
vultures. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  25 

Gaspar  Ruiz  had  restrained  a  cry,  though  it  Iiad 
seemed  to  him  that  his  head  was  cut  off  at  a  blow;  and 
when  darkness  came,  shaldng  off  the  dead,  whose 
weight  had  oppressed  him,  he  crawled  away  over  the 
plain  on  his  hands  and  knees.  After  drinking  deeply, 
like  a  wounded  beast,  at  a  shallow  stream,  he  assumed 
an  upright  posture,  and  staggered  on  light-headed  and 
aimless,  as  if  lost  amongst  the  stars  of  the  clear  night. 
A  small  house  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  ground  before 
him.  He  stumbled  into  the  porch  and  struck  at  the 
door  with  his  fist.  There  was  not  a  gleam  of  light. 
Gaspar  Ruiz  might  have  thought  that  the  inhabitants 
had  fled  from  it,  as  from  many  others  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, had  it  not  been  for  the  shouts  of  abuse  that 
answered  his  thumping.  In  his  feverish  and  enfeebled 
state  the  angry  screaming  seemed  to  him  part  of  a 
hallucination  belonging  to  the  weird  dreamlike  feeling 
of  his  unexpected  condemnation  to  death,  of  the  thirst 
suffered,  of  the  volleys  fired  at  him  within  fifteen  paces, 
of  his  head  being  cut  off  at  a  blow.  "Open  the  door!" 
he  cried.     " Open  in  the  name  of  God! " 

An  infuriated  voice  from  within  jeered  at  him: 
"Come  in,  come  in.  This  house  belongs  to  you.  All 
this  land  belongs  to  you.     Come  and  take  it." 

"For  the  love  of  God,"  Gaspar  Ruiz  murmured. 

"Does  not  all  the  land  belong  to  you  patriots?"  the 
voice  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  screamed  on.  "Are 
you  not  a  patriot.'*" 


26  A  SET  OF  SIX 

Caspar  Ruiz  did  not  know.  "I  am  a  wounded 
man,"  he  said  apathetically. 

All  became  still  inside.  Gaspar  Ruiz  lost  the  hope  of 
being  admitted,  and  lay  down  under  the  porch  just 
cutside  the  door.  He  was  utterly  careless  of  what  was 
going  to  happen  to  him.  All  his  consciousness  seemed 
to  be  concentrated  in  his  neck,  where  he  felt  a  severe 
pain.     His  indifference  as  to  his  fate  was  genuine. 

The  day  was  breaking  when  he  awoke  from  a  feverish 
doze;  the  door  at  which  he  had  knocked  in  the  dark 
stood  wide  open  now,  and  a  girl,  steadying  herself  with 
her  outspread  arms,  leaned  over  the  threshold.  Lying 
on  his  back,  he  stared  up  at  her.  Her  face  was  pale  and 
her  eyes  were  very  dark;  her  hair  hung  down  black  as 
ebony  against  her  white  cheeks;  her  lips  were  full  and 
red.  Beyond  her  he  saw  another  head  with  long  gray 
hair,  and  a  thin  old  face  with  a  pair  of  anxiously  clasped 
hands  under  the  chin. 

"I  knew  those  people  by  sight,"  General  Santierra 
would  tell  his  guests  at  the  dining-table.  *'I  mean  the 
people  with  whom  Gaspar  Ruiz  found  shelter.  The 
father  was  an  old  Spaniard,  a  man  of  property  ruined 
by  the  revolution.  His  estates,  his  house  in  town, 
his  money,  everything  he  had  in  the  world  had  been 
confiscated  by  proclamation,  for  he  was  a  bitter  foe 
of  our  independence.     From  a  position  of  great  dignity 


CASPAR  RUIZ  27 

and  influence  on  the  Viceroy's  Council  he  became  of  less 
importance  than  his  own  negro  slaves  made  free  by  our 
glorious  revolution.  He  had  not  even  the  means  to  flee 
the  country,  as  other  Spaniards  had  managed  to  do. 
It  may  be  that,  wandering  ruined  and  houseless,  and 
burdened  with  nothing  but  his  life,  which  was  left  to 
him  by  the  clemency  of  the  Provisional  Government,  he 
had  simply  walked  under  that  broken  roof  of  old  tiles. 
It  was  a  lonely  spot.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  even  a 
dog  belonging  to  the  place.  But  though  the  roof  had 
holes,  as  if  a  cannon-ball  or  two  had  dropped  through 
it,  the  wooden  shutters  were  thick  and  tight-closed  all 
the  time. 

"My  way  took  me  frequently  along  the  path  in 
front  of  that  miserable  rancho.  I  rode  from  the  fort  to 
the  town  almost  every  evening,  to  sigh  at  the  window 
of  a  lady  I  was  in  love  with,  then.  When  one  is  young, 
you  understand.  .  .  .  She  was  a  good  patriot,  you 
may  believe.  Caballeros,  credit  me  or  not,  political 
feeling  ran  so  high  in  those  days  that  I  do  not  believe 
I  could  have  been  fascinated  by  the  charms  of  a  woman 
of  Royalist  opinions.     .     .     ." 

Murmurs  of  amused  incredulity  all  round  the  table 
interrupted  the  General;  and  while  they  lasted  he 
stroked  his  white  beard  gravely. 

"Senores,"  he  protested,  "a  Royalist  was  a  monster 
to  our  overwrought  feelings.  I  am  telling  you  this  in 
order  not  to  be  suspected  of  the  slightest  tenderness 


28  A  SET  OF  SIX 

toward  that  old  Royalist's  daughter.  Moreover,  as  you 
know,  my  affections  were  engaged  elsewhere.  But  I 
could  not  help  noticing  her  on  rare  occasions  when  with 
the  front  door  open  she  stood  in  the  porch. 

"You  must  know  that  this  old  Royalist  was  as  crazy 
as  a  man  can  be.  His  political  misfortunes,  his  total 
downfall  and  ruin,  had  disordered  his  mind.  To  show 
his  contempt  for  what  we  patriots  could  do,  he  affected 
to  laugh  at  his  imprisonment,  at  the  confiscation  of  his 
lands,  the  burning  of  his  houses,  and  at  the  misery  to 
which  he  and  his  womenfolk  were  reduced.  This  habit 
of  laughing  had  grown  upon  him,  so  that  he  would  begin 
to  laugh  and  shout  directly  he  caught  sight  of  any 
stranger.     That  was  the  form  of  his  madness. 

"I,  of  course,  disregarded  the  noise  of  that  madman 
with  that  feeling  of  superiority  the  success  of  our  cause 
inspired  in  us  Americans.  I  suppose  I  really  despised 
him  because  he  was  an  old  Castilian,  a  Spaniard  born, 
and  a  Royahst.  Those  were  certainly  no  reasons  to 
scorn  a  man;  but  for  centuries  Spaniards  born  had 
shown  their  contempt  of  us  Americans,  men  as  well 
descended  as  themselves,  simply  because  we  were  what 
they  called  colonists.  We  had  been  kept  in  abasement 
and  made  to  feel  our  inferiority  in  social  intercourse. 
And  now  it  was  our  turn.  It  was  safe  for  us  patriots 
to  display  the  same  sentiments;  and  I  being  a  young 
patriot,  son  of  a  patriot,  despised  that  old  Spaniard,  and 
despising  him  I  naturally  disregarded  his  abuse,  though 


CASPAR  RUIZ  29 

it  was  annoying  to  my  feelings.  Others  perhaps  would 
not  have  been  so  forbearing. 

"He  would  begin  with  a  great  yell:  'I  see  a  patriot. 
Another  of  them!'  long  before  I  came  abreast  of  the 
house.  The  tone  of  his  senseless  revilings,  mingled 
with  bursts  of  laughter,  was  sometimes  piercingly 
shrill  and  sometimes  grave.  It  was  all  very  mad;  but 
I  felt  it  incumbent  upon  my  dignity  to  check  my  horse 
to  a  walk  without  even  glancing  toward  the  house,  as 
if  that  man's  abusive  clamour  in  the  porch  were  less 
than  the  barking  of  a  cur.  /Always  I  rode  by  pre- 
serving an  expression  of  haughty  indifference  on  my 
face. 

"It  was  no  doubt  very  dignified;  but  I  should  have 
done  better  if  I  had  kept  my  eyes  open.  A  mili- 
tary man  in  war  time  should  never  consider  himself  off 
duty;  and  especially  so  if  the  war  is  a  revolutionary 
war,  when  the  enemy  is  not  at  the  door,  but  within 
your  very  house.  At  such  times  the  heat  of  passionate 
convictions,  passing  into  hatred,  removes  the  re- 
straints of  honour  and  humanity  from  many  men  and 
of  delicacy  and  fear  from  some  women.  These  last, 
when  once  they  throw  off  the  timidity  and  reserve  of 
their  sex,  become  by  the  vivacity  of  their  intelligence 
and  the  violence  of  their  merciless  resentment  more 
dangerous  than  so  many  armed  giants." 

The  General's  voice  rose,  but  his  big  hand  stroked 
his  white  beard  twice  with  an  effect  of  venerable  calm- 


80  A  SET  OF  SIX 

ness.  "Si,  senores!  Women  are  ready  to  rise  to  the 
heights  of  devotion  unattainable  by  us  men,  or  to  sink 
into  the  depths  of  abasement  which  amazes  our  mas- 
cuHne  prejudices.  I  am  speaking  now  of  exceptional 
women,  you  understand.     .     .     ." 

Here  one  of  the  guests  observed  that  he  had  never 
met  a  woman  yet  who  was  not  capable  of  turning  out 
quite  exceptional  under  circumstances  that  would  en- 
gage her  feelings  strongly.  "That  sort  of  superiority 
in  recklessness  they  have  over  us,"  he  concluded, 
"makes  of  them  the  more  interesting  half  of  man- 
kind." 

The  General,  who  bore  the  interruption  with  gravity, 
nodded  courteous  assent.  "Si.  Si.  Under  circum- 
stances. .  .  .  Precisely.  They  can  do  an  infinite 
deal  of  mischief  sometimes  in  quite  unexpected  ways. 
For  who  could  have  imagined  that  a  young  girl,  daughter 
of  a  ruined  Royalist  whose  life  itself  was  held  only  by 
the  contempt  of  his  enemies,  would  have  had  the  power 
to  bring  death  and  devastation  upon  two  flourish- 
ing provinces  and  cause  serious  anxiety  to  the  leaders 
of  the  revolution  in  the  very  hour  of  its  success!" 
He  paused  to  let  the  wonder  of  it  penetrate  our 
minds. 

"Death  and  devastation,"  somebody  murmured  in 
surprise:  "how  shocking!" 

The  old  General  gave  a  glance  in  the  direction  of 
the  murmur  and  went  on:    "Yes.    That  is,   war — 


GASPAR  RUIZ  SI 

calamity.  But  the  means  by  which  she  obtained  the 
power  to  work  this  havoc  on  our  southern  frontier  seem 
to  me,  who  have  seen  her  and  spoken  to  her,  still  more 
shocking.  That  particular  thing  left  on  my  mind  a 
dreadful  amazement  which  the  further  experience  of 
life,  of  more  than  fifty  years,  has  done  nothing  to  di- 
minish." He  looked  round  as  if  to  make  sure  of  our  atten- 
tion, and,  in  a  changed  voice:  "I  am,  as  you  know,  a 
republican,  son  of  a  Liberator,"  he  declared.  "My  in- 
comparable mother,  God  rest  her  soul,  was  a  French- 
woman, the  daughter  of  an  ardent  republican.  As  a 
boy  I  fought  for  liberty;  I've  always  believed  in  the 
equality  of  men;  and  as  to  their  brotherhood,  that,  to 
my  mind,  is  even  more  certain.  Look  at  the  fierce 
animosity  they  display  in  their  differences.  And  what 
in  the  world  do  you  know  that  is  more  bitterly  fierce 
than  brothers'  quarrels.'*" 

All  absence  of  cynicism  checked  an  inclination  to 
smile  at  this  view  of  human  brotherhood.  On  the 
contrary  there  was  in  the  tone  the  melancholy  natural 
to  a  man  profoundly  humane  at  heart  who  from  duty, 
from  conviction,  and  from  necessity,  had  played  his 
part  in  scenes  of  ruthless  violence. 

The  General  had  seen  much  of  fratricidal  strife. 
"Certainly.  There  is  no  doubt  of  their  brotherhood,'* 
he  insisted.  "All  men  are  brothers,  and  as  such  know 
almost  too  much  of  each  other.  But" — and  here  in 
the  old  patriarchal  head,  white  as  silver,  the  black  eyes 


32  A  SET  OF  SIX 

humorously  twinkled — "if  we  are  all  brothers,  all  the 
women  are  not  our  sisters." 

One  of  the  younger  guests  was  heard  murmuring 
his  satisfaction  at  the  fact.  But  the  General  continued, 
with  deliberate  earnestness:  "They  are  so  different! 
The  tale  of  a  king  who  took  a  beggar-maid  for  a  partner 
of  his  throne  may  be  pretty  enough  as  we  men  look 
upon  ourselves  and  upon  love.  But  that  a  young  girl, 
famous  for  her  haughty  beauty  and,  only  a  short 
time  before,  the  admired  of  all  at  the  balls  in  the 
Viceroy's  palace,  should  take  by  the  hand  a  guasso,  a 
common  peasant,  is  intolerable  to  our  sentiment  of 
women  and  their  love.  It  is  madness.  Nevertheless,  it 
happened.  But  it  must  be  said  that  in  her  case  it  was 
the  madness  of  hate — not  of  love." 

After  presenting  this  excuse  in  a  spirit  of  chivalrous 
justice,  the  General  remained  silent  for  a  time.  "I 
rode  past  the  house  every  day  almost,"  he  began  again, 
"and  this  was  what  was  going  on  within.  But  how  it 
was  going  on  no  mind  of  man  can  conceive.  Her  des- 
peration must  have  been  extreme,  and  Gaspar  Ruiz 
was  a  docile  fellow.  He  had  been  an  obedient  soldier. 
His  strength  was  like  an  enormous  stone  lying  on  the 
ground,  ready  to  be  hurled  this  way  or  that  by  the  hand 
that  picks  it  up. 

"It  is  clear  that  he  would  tell  his  story  to  the  people 
who  gave  him  the  shelter  he  needed.  And  he  needed 
assistance  badly.     His  wound  was  not  dangerous,  but 


CASPAR  RUIZ  33 

his  life  was  forfeited.  The  old  Royahst  being  wrapped 
up  in  his  laughing  madness,  the  two  women  arranged 
a  hiding-place  for  the  wounded  man  in  one  of  the  huts 
amongst  the  fruit  trees  at  the  back  of  the  house.  That 
hovel,  an  abundance  of  clear  water  while  the  fever 
was  on  him,  and  some  words  of  pity  were  all  they  could 
give.  I  suppose  he  had  a  share  of  what  food  there  was. 
And  it  would  be  but  little:  a  handful  of  roasted  corn, 
perhaps  a  dish  of  beans,  or  a  piece  of  bread  with  a  few 
figs.  To  such  misery  were  those  proud  and  once 
wealthy  people  reduced." 

VII 

General  Santierra  was  right  in  his  surmise.  Such 
was  the  exact  nature  of  the  assistance  which  Gaspar 
Ruiz,  peasant  son  of  peasants,  received  from  the  Roy- 
alist family  whose  daughter  had  opened  the  door  of 
their  miserable  refuge  to  his  extreme  distress.  Her 
sombre  resolution  ruled  the  madness  of  her  father  and 
the  trembling  bewilderment  of  her  mother. 

She  had  asked  the  strange  man  on  the  doorstep: 
"Who  wounded  you.'^" 

"The  soldiers,  senora,"  Gaspar  Ruiz  had  answered, 
in  a  faint  voice. 

"Patriots?" 

"Si." 

"What  for?" 

"Deserter,"    he   gasped,    leaning   against    the   wall 


S4  A  SET  OF  SIX 

under  the  scrutiny  of  her  black  eyes.  "I  was  left  for 
dead  over  there." 

She  led  him  through  the  house  out  to  a  small  hut  of 
clay  and  reeds,  lost  in  the  long  grass  of  the  overgrown 
orchard.  He  sank  on  a  heap  of  maize  straw  in  a  corner, 
and  sighed  profoundly. 

"No  one  will  look  for  you  here,"  she  said,  looking 
down  at  him.  "Nobody  comes  near  us.  We,  too,  have 
been  left  for  dead — here." 

He  stirred  uneasily  on  his  heap  of  dirty  straw,  and 
the  pain  in  his  neck  made  him  groan  deliriously. 

"I  shall  show  Estaban  some  day  that  I  am  alive 
yet,"  he  mumbled. 

He  accepted  her  assistance  in  silence,  and  the  many 
days  of  pain  went  by.  Her  appearances  in  the  hut 
brought  him  reUef  and  became  connected  with  the 
feverish  dreams  of  angels  which  visited  his  couch;  for 
Caspar  Ruiz  was  instructed  in  the  mysteries  of  his 
religion,  and  had  even  been  taught  to  read  and  write  a 
httle  by  the  priest  of  his  village.  He  waited  for  her 
with  impatience,  and  saw  her  pass  out  of  the  dark  hut 
and  disappear  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  with  poignant 
regret.  He  discovered  that,  while  he  lay  there  feel- 
ing so  very  weak,  he  could,  by  closing  his  eyes,  evoke 
her  face  with  considerable  distinctness.  And  this 
discovered  faculty  charmed  the  long,  solitary  hours 
of  his  convalescence.  Later  on,  when  he  began  to 
regain  his   strength,   he   would   creep   at   dusk  from 


CASPAR  RUIZ  35 

his  hut  to  the  house  and  sit  on  the  step  of  the  garden 
door. 

In  one  of  the  rooms  the  mad  father  paced  to  and 
fro,  muttering  to  himself  with  short  abrupt  laughs.  In 
the  passage,  sitting  on  a  stool,  the  mother  sighed  and 
moaned.  The  daughter,  in  rough  threadbare  clothing, 
and  her  white  haggard  face  half  hidden  by  a  coarse 
manta,  stood  leaning  against  the  lintel  of  the  door. 
Gaspar  Ruiz,  with  his  elbows  propped  on  his  knees  and 
his  head  resting  in  his  hands,  talked  to  the  two  women 
in  an  undertone. 

The  common  misery  of  destitution  would  have  made 
a  bitter  mockery  of  a  marked  insistence  on  social  differ- 
ences. Gaspar  Ruiz  understood  this  in  his  simpHcity. 
From  his  captivity  amongst  the  Royalists  he  could  give 
them  news  of  people  they  knew.  He  described  their 
appearance;  and  when  he  related  the  story  of  the  battle 
in  which  he  was  recaptured  the  two  women  lamented 
the  blow  to  their  cause  and  the  ruin  of  their  secret 
hopes. 

He  had  no  feeling  either  way.  But  he  felt  a  great 
devotion  for  that  young  girl.  In  his  desire  to  appear 
worthy  of  her  condescension,  he  boasted  a  little  of  his 
bodily  strength.  He  had  notliing  else  to  boast  of. 
Because  of  that  quality  his  comrades  treated  him  with  as 
great  a  deference,  he  explained,  as  though  he  had  been 
a  sergeant,  both  in  camp  and  in  battle. 

"I  could  always  get  as  many  as  I  wanted  to  follow 


36  A  SET  OF  SIX 

me  anywhere,  senorita.  I  ought  to  have  been  made  an 
officer,  because  I  can  read  and  write." 

Behind  him  the  silent  old  lady  fetched  a  moaning 
sigh  from  time  to  time;  the  distracted  father  muttered 
to  himself,  pacing  the  sala;  and  Gaspar  Ruiz  would 
raise  his  eyes  now  and  then  to  look  at  the  daughter  of 
these  people. 

He  would  look  at  her  with  curiosity  because  she 
was  alive,  and  also  with  that  feeling  of  familiarity  and 
awe  with  which  he  had  contemplated  in  churches  the 
inanimate  and  powerful  statues  of  the  saints,  whose 
protection  is  invoked  in  dangers  and  difficulties.  His 
difficulty  was  very  great. 

He  could  not  remain  hiding  in  an  orchard  for  ever 
and  ever.  He  knew  also  very  well  that  before  he  had 
gone  half  a  day's  journey  in  any  direction,  he  would  be 
picked  up  by  one  of  the  cavalry  patrols  scouring  the 
country,  and  brought  into  one  or  another  of  the  camps 
where  the  patriot  army  destined  for  the  liberation  of 
Peru  was  collected.  There  he  would  in  the  end  be 
recognized  as  Gaspar  Ruiz — the  deserter  to  the  Royalists 
— and  no  doubt  shot  very  effectually  this  time.  There 
did  not  seem  any  place  in  the  world  for  the  innocent 
Gaspar  Ruiz  anywhere.  And  at  this  thought  his  sim- 
ple soul  surrendered  itself  to  gloom  and  resentment  as 
black  as  night. 

They  had  made  him  a  soldier  forcibly.  He  did  not 
mind  being  a  soldier.     And  he  had  been  a  good  soldier 


CASPAR  RUIZ  37 

as  he  had  been  a  good  son,  because  of  his  docihty  and 
his  strength.  But  now  there  was  no  use  for  either. 
They  had  taken  him  from  his  parents,  and  he  could  no 
longer  be  a  soldier — not  a  good  soldier  at  any  rate. 
Nobody  would  listen  to  his  explanations.  What  in- 
justice it  was!     What  injustice! 

And  in  a  mournful  murmur  he  would  go  over  the 
story  of  his  capture  and  recapture  for  the  twentieth 
time.  Then,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  silent  girl  in  the 
doorway,  "Si,  senorita,"  he  would  say  with  a  deep 
sigh,  "injustice  has  made  this  poor  breath  in  my  body 
quite  worthless  to  me  and  to  anybody  else.  And  I  do 
not  care  who  robs  me  of  it." 

One  evening,  as  he  exhaled  thus  the  plaint  of  his 
wounded  soul,  she  condescended  to  say  that,  if  she  were 
a  man,  she  would  consider  no  life  worthless  which  held 
the  possibility  of  revenge. 

She  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  herself.  Her  voice 
was  low.  He  drank  in  the  gentle,  as  if  dreamy  sound, 
with  a  consciousness  of  peculiar  delight,  of  something 
warming  his  breast  like  a  draught  of  generous  wine. 

"True,  senorita,"  he  said,  raising  his  face  up  to  hers 
slowly:  "there  is  Estaban,  who  must  be  shown  that  I 
am  not  dead  after  all." 

The  mutterings  of  the  mad  father  had  ceased  long 
before;  the  sighing  mother  had  withdrawn  somewhere 
into  one  of  the  empty  rooms.  All  was  still  within 
as  well  as  without,  in  the  moonlight  bright  as  day  on  the 


38  A  SET  OF  SIX 

wild  orchard  full  of  inky  shadows.  Caspar  Ruiz  saw  the 
dark  eyes  of  Doiia  Erminia  look  down  at  him. 

"Ah!    The  sergeant,"  she  muttered  disdainfully. 

"Why!  He  has  wounded  me  with  his  sword,"  he 
protested,  bewildered  by  the  contempt  that  seemed  to 
shine  hvid  on  her  pale  face. 

She  crushed  him  with  her  glance.  The  power  of  her 
will  to  be  understood  was  so  strong  that  it  kindled  in 
him  the  intelligence  of  unexpressed  things. 

"What  else  did  you  expect  me  to  do?"  he  cried,  as 
if  suddenly  driven  to  despair.  "Have  I  the  power  to  do 
more?  Am  I  a  general  with  an  army  at  my  back? — 
miserable  sinner  that  I  am  to  be  despised  by  you  at 
bst." 

VII 

"Senores,"  related  the  General  to  his  guests,  "though 
my  thoughts  were  of  love  then,  and  therefore  enchant- 
ing, the  sight  of  that  house  always  affected  me  dis- 
agreeably, especially  in  the  moonlight,  when  its  close 
shutters  and  its  air  of  lonely  neglect  appeared  sinister. 
Still  I  went  on  using  the  bridle-path  by  the  ravine, 
because  it  was  a  short  cut.  The  mad  Royalist  howled 
and  laughed  at  me  every  evening  to  his  complete  sat- 
isfaction; but  after  a  time,  as  if  wearied  with  my  in- 
difference, he  ceased  to  appear  in  the  porch.  How 
they  persuaded  him  to  leave  off  I  do  not  know.  How- 
ever, with  Caspar  Ruiz  in  the  house  there  would  have 


CASPAR  RUIZ  S9 

been  no  difficulty  in  restraining  him  by  force.  It 
was  now  part  of  their  pohcy  in  there  to  avoid  anything 
which  could  provoke  me.     At  least,  so  I  suppose. 

"Notwithstanding  my  infatuation  with  the  brightest 
pair  of  eyes  in  Chile,  I  noticed  the  absence  of  the  old 
man  after  a  week  or  so.  A  few  more  days  passed.  I 
began  to  think  that  perhaps  these  Royalists  had  gone 
away  somewhere  else.  But  one  evening,  as  I  was  hast- 
ening toward  the  city,  I  saw  again  somebody  in  the 
porch.  It  was  not  the  madman;  it  was  the  girl.  She 
stood  holding  on  to  one  of  the  wooden  columns,  tall  and 
white-faced,  her  big  eyes  sunk  deep  with  privation  and 
sorrow.  I  looked  hard  at  her,  and  she  met  my  stare 
with  a  strange,  inquisitive  look.  Then,  as  I  turned  my 
head  after  riding  past,  she  seemed  to  gather  courage 
for  the  act,  and  absolutely  beckoned  me  back. 

"I  obeyed,  senores,  almost  without  thinking,  so  great 
was  my  astonishment.  It  was  greater  still  when  I 
heard  what  she  had  to  say.  She  began  by  thanking  me 
for  my  forbearance  of  her  father's  infirmity,  so  that  I 
felt  ashamed  of  myself.  I  had  meant  to  show  disdain, 
not  forbearance!  Every  word  must  have  burnt  her 
lips,  but  she  never  departed  from  a  gentle  and  melan- 
choly dignity  which  filled  me  with  respect  against  my 
will.  Senores,  we  are  no  match  for  women.  But  I 
could  hardly  believe  my  ears  when  she  began  her  tale. 
Providence,  she  concluded,  seemed  to  have  preserved 
the  life  of  that  wronged  soldier,  who  now  trusted  to  my 


40  A  SET  OF  SIX 

honour  as  a  caballero  and  to  my  compassion  for  his 
sufferings, 

"'Wronged  man,'  I  observed  coldly.  'Well,  I  think 
so,  too:  and  you  have  been  harbouring  an  enemy  of 
your  cause.' 

"'He  was  a  poor  Christian  crying  for  help  at  our 
door  in  the  name  of  God,  senor,'  she  answered  simply. 

"I  began  to  admire  her.  'Where  is  he  now?'  I 
asked  stiffly. 

"But  she  would  not  answer  that  question.  With 
extreme  cunning,  and  an  almost  fiendish  dehcacy,  she 
managed  to  remind  me  of  my  failure  in  saving  the  lives 
of  the  prisoners  in  the  guard-room,  without  wounding 
my  pride.  She  knew,  of  course,  the  whole  story. 
Caspar  Ruiz,  she  said,  entreated  me  to  procure  for  him 
a  safe-conduct  from  Ceneral  San  Martin  himself.  He 
had  an  important  communication  to  make  to  the  Com- 
mander-in-chief. 

"  Por  Dios,  senores,  she  made  me  swallow  all  that, 
pretending  to  be  only  the  mouthpiece  of  that  poor  man. 
Overcome  by  injustice,  he  expected  to  find,  she  said,  as 
much  generosity  in  me  as  had  been  shown  to  him  by 
the  Royalist  family  which  had  given  him  a  refuge. 

"Ha!  It  was  well  and  nobly  said  to  a  youngster  lil^e 
me.    I  thought  her  great.    Alas !  she  was  only  implacable. 

"In  the  end  I  rode  away  very  enthusiastic  about  the 
business,  without  demanding  even  to  see  Caspar  Ruiz, 
who  I  was  confident  was  in  the  house. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  41 

"But  on  calm  reflection  I  began  to  see  some  difficul- 
ties which  I  had  not  confidence  enough  in  myself  to 
encounter.  It  was  not  easy  to  approach  a  Commander- 
in-chief  with  such  a  story.  I  feared  failure.  At  last  I 
thought  it  better  to  lay  the  matter  before  my  general- 
of-division,  Robles,  a  friend  of  my  family,  who  had 
appointed  me  his  aide-de-camp  lately, 

"He  took  it  out  of  my  hands  at  once  without  any 
ceremony. 

*"In  the  house!  of  course  he  is  in  the  house,'  he  said 
contemptuously.  'You  ought  to  have  gone  sword  in 
hand  inside  and  demanded  his  surrender,  instead  of 
chatting  with  a  Royalist  girl  in  the  porch.  Those 
people  should  have  been  hunted  out  of  that  long  ago. 
Who  knows  how  many  spies  they  have  harboured  right 
in  the  very  midst  of  our  camps?  A  safe-conduct  from 
the  Commander-in-chief!  The  audacity  of  the  fellow! 
Ha!  ha!  Now  we  shall  catch  him  to-night,  and  then 
we  shall  find  out,  without  any  safe-conduct,  what  he 
has  got  to  say  that  is  so  very  important.     Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"General  Robles,  peace  to  his  soul,  was  a  short, 
thick  man,  with  round,  staring  eyes,  fierce  and  jovial. 
Seeing  my  distress,  he  added : 

"'Come,  come,  Chico.  I  promise  you  his  life  if  he 
does  not  resist.  And  that  is  not  likely.  We  are  not 
going  to  break  up  a  good  soldier  if  it  can  be  helped.  I 
tell  you  what!  I  am  curious  to  see  your  strong  man. 
Nothing  but  a  general  will  do  for  the  picaro — well,  he 


42  A  SET  OF  SIX 

shall  have  a  general  to  talk  to.  Ha!  ha!  I  shall  go 
myself  to  the  catching,  and  you  are  coming  with  me,  of 
course.' 

"And  it  was  done  that  same  night.  Early  in  the 
evening  the  house  and  the  orchard  were  surrounded 
quietly.  Later  on  the  General  and  I  left  a  ball  we  were 
attending  in  town  and  rode  out  at  an  easy  gallop.  At 
some  httle  distance  from  the  house  we  pulled  up.  A 
mounted  orderly  held  our  horses.  A  low  whistle 
warned  the  men  watching  all  along  the  ravine,  and  we 
walked  up  to  the  porch  softly.  The  barricaded  house 
in  the  moonhght  seemed  empty. 

"The  General  knocked  at  the  door.  After  a  time  a 
woman's  voice  within  asked  who  was  there.  My  chief 
nudged  me  hard.     I  gasped: 

"*It  is  I,  Lieutenant  Santierra,'  I  stammered  out,  as 
if  choked.     'Open  the  door.' 

"It  came  open  slowly.  The  girl,  holding  a  thin 
taper  in  her  hand,  seeing  another  man  with  me,  began 
to  back  away  before  us  slowly,  shading  the  light  with 
her  hand.  Her  impassive  white  face  looked  ghostly.  I 
followed  behind  General  Robles.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  mine.  I  made  a  gesture  of  helplessness  behind  my 
chief's  back,  trying  at  the  same  time  to  give  a  reassuring 
expression  to  my  face.  Neither  of  us  three  uttered  a 
sound. 

"We  found  ourselves  in  a  room  with  bare  floor  and 
walls.     There  was  a  rough  table  and  a  couple  of  stools 


CASPAR  RUIZ  43 

in  it,  nothing  else  whatever.  An  old  woman  with  her 
gray  hair  hanging  loose  wrung  her  hands  when  we 
appeared,  A  peal  of  loud  laughter  resounded  through 
the  empty  house,  very  amazing  and  weird.  At  this  the 
old  woman  tried  to  get  past  us. 

"'Nobody  to  leave  the  room,'  said  General  Robles 
to  me. 

*'I  swung  the  door  to,  heard  the  latch  cHck,  and  the 
laughter  became  faint  in  our  ears. 

"Before  another  word  could  be  spoken  in  that  room 
I  was  amazed  by  hearing  the  sound  of  distant  thunder. 

"I  had  carried  in  with  me  into  the  house  a  vivid  im- 
pression of  a  beautiful  clear  moonlight  night,  without  a 
speck  of  cloud  in  the  sky.  I  could  not  believe  my  ears. 
Sent  early  abroad  for  my  education,  I  was  not  familiar 
with  the  most  dreaded  natural  phenomenon  of  my  na- 
tive land.  I  saw,  with  inexpressible  astonishment,  a 
look  of  terror  in  my  chief's  eyes.  Suddenly  I  felt 
giddy!  The  General  staggered  against  me  heavily;  the 
girl  seemed  to  reel  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  the  taper 
fell  out  of  her  hand  and  the  light  went  out;  a  shrill  cry 
of  'Misericordia!'  from  the  old  woman  pierced  my  ears. 
In  the  pitchy  darkness  I  heard  the  plaster  off  the  walls 
falling  on  the  floor.  It  is  a  mercy  there  was  no  ceiling. 
Holding  on  to  the  latch  of  the  door,  I  heard  the  grinding 
of  the  roof-tiles  cease  above  my  head.  The  shock  was 
over. 

"*Out   of   the   house!    The   door!    Fly,  Santierra, 


44  A  SET  OF  SIX 

fly!'  howled  the  Generah  You  know,  senores,  in  our 
country  the  bravest  are  not  ashamed  of  the  fear  an 
earthquake  strikes  into  all  the  senses  of  man.  One 
never  gets  used  to  it.  Repeated  experience  only  aug- 
ments the  mastery  of  that  nameless  terror. 

"It  was  my  first  earthquake,  and  I  was  the  calmest  of 
them  all.  I  understood  that  the  crash  outside  was 
caused  by  the  porch,  with  its  wooden  pillars  and  tiled 
roof  projection,  falling  down.  The  next  shock  would 
destroy  the  house,  n^aybe.  That  rumble  as  of  thunder 
was  approaching  again.  The  General  was  rushing 
round  the  room,  to  find  the  door,  perhaps.  He  made  a 
noise  as  though  he  were  trying  to  climb  the  walls,  and 
I  heard  him  distinctly  invoke  the  names  of  several 
saints.     'Out,  out,  Santierra!'  he  yelled. 

"The  girl's  voice  was  the  only  one  I  did  not  hear. 

"'General,'  I  cried,  'I  cannot  move  the  door.  We 
must  be  locked  in.' 

"I  did  not  recognize  his  voice  in  the  shout  of  male- 
diction and  despair  he  let  out.  Senores,  I  know  many 
men  in  my  country,  especially  in  the  provinces  most 
subject  to  earthquakes,  who  will  neither  eat,  sleep, 
pray,  nor  even  sit  down  to  cards  with  closed  doors. 
The  danger  is  not  in  the  loss  of  time,  but  in  this — that 
the  movement  of  the  walls  may  prevent  a  door  being 
opened  at  all.  This  was  what  had  happened  to  us. 
We  were  trapped,  and  we  had  no  help  to  expect  from 
anybody.     There  is  no  man  in  my  country  who  will  go 


CASPAR  RUIZ  45 

into  a  house  when  the  earth  trembles.     There  never 
was — except  one:  Caspar  Ruiz. 

"He  had  come  out  of  whatever  hole  he  had  been 
hiding  in  outside,  and  had  clambered  over  the  timbers 
of  the  destroyed  porch.  Above  the  awful  subterranean 
groan  of  coming  destruction  I  heard  a  mighty  voice 
shouting  the  word  'Erminia!'  with  the  lungs  of  a  giant. 
An  earthquake  is  a  great  leveller  of  distinctions.  I 
collected  all  my  resolution  against  the  terror  of  the 
scene.  'She  is  here,'  I  shouted  back.  A  roar  as  of  a 
fiu-ious  wild  beast  answered  me — while  my  head  swam, 
my  heart  sank,  and  the  sweat  of  anguish  streamed  like 
rain  off  my  brow. 

*'He  had  the  strength  to  pick  up  one  of  the  heavy 
posts  of  the  porch.  Holding  it  under  his  armpit  like  a 
lance,  but  with  both  hands,  he  charged  madly  the  rock- 
ing house  with  the  force  of  a  battering-ram,  bursting 
open  the  door  and  rushing  in,  headlong,  over  our  pros- 
trate bodies.  I  and  the  Ccneral,  picking  ourselves  up, 
bolted  out  together,  without  looking  round  once  till 
we  got  across  the  road.  Then,  clinging  to  each  other, 
we  beheld  the  house  change  suddenly  into  a  heap  of 
formless  rubbish  behind  the  back  of  a  man,  who  stag- 
gered toward  us  bearing  the  form  of  a  woman  clasped 
in  his  arms.  Her  long  black  hair  hung  nearly  to  his 
feet.  He  laid  her  dowm  reverently  on  the  heaving 
earth,  and  the  moonlight  shone  on  her  closed  eyes. 

"Senores,  we  mounted  with  difficulty.     Our  horses 


46  A  SET  OF  SIX 

getting  up  plunged  madly,  held  by  the  soldiers  who  had 
come  running  from  all  sides.  Nobody  thought  of 
catching  Caspar  Ruiz  then.  The  eyes  of  men  and 
animals  shone  with  wild  fear.  My  General  approached 
Caspar  Ruiz,  who  stood  motionless  as  a  statue  above 
the  girl.  He  let  himself  be  shaken  by  the  shoulder 
without  detaching  his  eyes  from  her  face. 

'"Que  guapel'  shouted  the  General  in  his  ear.  'You 
are  the  bravest  man  living.  You  have  saved  my  life.  I 
am  General  Robles.  Come  to  my  quarters  to-morrow, 
if  God  gives  us  the  grace  to  see  another  day.' 

"He  never  stirred — as  if  deaf,  without  feeling,  in- 
sensible. 

"We  rode  away  for  the  town,  full  of  our  relations,  of 
our  friends,  of  whose  fate  we  hardly  dared  to  think. 
The  soldiers  ran  by  the  side  of  our  horses.  Everything 
was  forgotten  in  the  immensity  of  the  catastrophe  over- 
taking a  whole  country." 


Caspar  Ruiz  saw  the  girl  open  her  eyes.  The  raising 
of  her  eyelids  seemed  to  recall  him  from  a  trance.  They 
were  alone;  the  cries  of  terror  and  distress  from  home- 
less people  filled  the  plains  of  the  coast  remote  and 
immense,  coming  like  a  whisper  into  their  loneliness. 

She  rose  swiftly  to  her  feet,  darting  fearful  glances 
on  all  sides.  "What  is  it.? "  she  cried  out  low,  and  peer- 
ing into  his  face.     "Where  am  I?" 


CASPAR  RUIZ  47 

He  bowed  his  liead  sadly,  without  a  word. 

"...  Who  are  you?" 

He  knelt  down  slowly  before  her,  and  touched  the 
hem  of  her  coarse  black  baize  skirt.  "Your  slave,"  he 
said. 

She  caught  sight  then  of  the  heap  of  rubbish  that 
had  been  the  house,  all  misty  in  the  cloud  of  dust. 
"Ah!"  she  cried,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"I  carried  you  out  from  there,"  he  whispered  at  her 
feet. 

"And  they?"  she  asked  in  a  great  sob. 

He  rose,  and  taldng  her  by  the  arms,  led  her  gently 
toward  the  shapeless  ruin  half  overwhelmed  by  a  land- 
slide.    "Come  and  listen,"  he  said. 

The  serene  moon  saw  them  clambering  over  that 
heap  of  stones,  joists,  and  tiles,  which  was  a  grave. 
They  pressed  their  ears  to  the  interstices,  hstening  for 
the  sound  of  a  groan,  for  a  sigh  of  pain. 

At  last  he  said:  "They  died  swiftly.     You  are  alone." 

She  sat  down  on  a  piece  of  broken  timber  and  put 
one  arm  across  her  face.  He  waited — then  approach- 
ing his  lips  to  her  ear:     "Let  us  go,"  he  whispered. 

"Never — never  from  here,"  she  cried  out,  flinging 
her  arms  above  her  head. 

He  stooped  over  her,  and  her  raised  arms  fell  upon 
his  shoulders.  He  lifted  her  up,  steadied  himself,  and 
began  to  walk,  looking  straight  before  him. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  asked  feebly. 


48  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"I  am  escaping  from  my  enemies,"  he  said,  never 
once  glancing  at  his  Hght  burden. 

"With  me?"  she  sighed  helplessly. 

"Never  without  you,"  he  said.  "You  are  my 
strength." 

He  pressed  her  close  to  him.  His  face  was  grave 
and  his  footsteps  steady.  The  conflagrations  bursting 
out  in  the  ruins  of  destroyed  villages  dotted  the  plain 
with  red  fires;  and  the  sounds  of  distant  lamentations, 
the  cries  of  Misericordia !  Misericordia !  made  a  desolate 
murmur  in  his  ears.  He  walked  on,  solemn  and  col- 
lected, as  if  carrying  something  holy,  fragile,  and  pre- 
cious. 

The  earth  rocked  at  times  under  his  feet. 

IX 

With  movements  of  mechanical  care  and  an  air  of 
abstraction  old  General  Santierra  lighted  a  long  and 
thick  cigar. 

"It  was  a  good  many  hours  before  we  could  send  a 
party  back  to  the  ravine,"  he  said  to  his  guests.  "We 
had  found  one  third  of  the  town  laid  low,  the  rest  shaken 
up;  and  the  inhabitants,  rich  and  poor,  reduced  to  the 
same  state  of  distraction  by  the  universal  disaster. 
The  affected  cheerfulness  of  some  contrasted  with  the 
despair  of  others.  In  the  general  confusion  a  number 
of  reckless  thieves,  without  fear  of  God  or  man,  became 
a  danger  to  those  who  from  the  downfall  of  their  homes 


CASPAR  RUIZ  49 

had  managed  to  save  some  valuables.  Crying  'IMiseri- 
cordia'  louder  than  any  at  every  tremor,  and  beating 
their  breast  with  one  hand,  these  scoundrels  robbed  the 
poor  victims  with  the  other,  not  even  stopping  short  of 
murder. 

"  Ceneral  Robles'  division  was  occupied  entirely  in 
guarding  the  destroyed  quarters  of  the  town  from  the 
depredations  of  these  inhuman  monsters.  Taken  up 
with  my  duties  of  orderly  officer,  it  was  only  in  the 
morning  that  I  could  assure  myself  of  the  safety  of  my 
own  family.  My  mother  and  my  sisters  had  escaped 
with  their  lives  from  that  ball-room,  where  I  had  left 
them  early  in  the  evening.  I  remember  those  two 
beautiful  young  women — Cod  rest  their  souls — as  if  I 
saw  them  this  moment,  in  the  garden  of  our  destroyed 
house,  pale  but  active,  assisting  some  of  our  poor  neigh- 
bours, in  their  soiled  ball-dresses  and  with  the  dust  of 
fallen  walls  on  their  hair.  As  to  my  mother,  she  had  a 
stoical  soul  in  her  frail  body.  Half-covered  by  a  costly 
shawl,  she  was  lying  on  a  rustic  seat  by  the  side  of  an 
ornamental  basin  whose  fountain  had  ceased  to  play  for- 
ever on  that  night. 

"I  had  hardly  had  time  to  embrace  them  all  with  trans- 
ports of  joy  when  my  chief,  coming  along,  dispatched 
me  to  the  ravine  with  a  few  soldiers,  to  bring  in  my 
strong  man,  as  he  called  him,  and  that  pale  girl. 

"But  there  was  no  one  for  us  to  bring  in.  A  land- 
slide had  covered  the  ruins  of  the  house;  and  it  was 


50  A  SET  OF  SIX 

like  a  large  mound  of  earth  with  only  the  ends  of  some 
timbers  visible  here  and  there — nothing  more. 

"Thus  were  the  tribulations  of  the  old  Royalist 
couple  ended.  An  enormous  and  uneonsecrated  grave 
had  swallowed  them  up  alive,  in  their  unhappy  obsti- 
nacy against  the  will  of  a  people  to  be  free.  And  their 
daughter  was  gone. 

"That  Caspar  Ruiz  had  carried  her  off  I  understood 
very  well.  But  as  the  case  was  not  foreseen,  I  had  no 
instructions  to  pursue  them.  And  certainly  I  had  no 
desire  to  do  so.  I  had  grown  mistrustful  of  my  inter- 
ference. It  had  never  been  successful,  and  had  not 
even  appeared  creditable.  He  was  gone.  Well,  let 
him  go.  And  he  had  carried  off  the  Royalist  girl! 
Nothing  better.  Vaya  con  Dios.  This  was  not  the 
time  to  bother  about  a  deserter  who,  justly  or  unjustly, 
ought  to  have  been  dead,  and  a  girl  for  whom  it  would 
have  been  better  to  have  never  been  born. 

"So  I  marched  my  men  back  to  the  town. 

"After  a  few  days,  order  having  been  reestablished, 
all  the  principal  families,  including  my  own,  left  for 
Santiago.  We  had  a  fine  house  there.  At  the  same 
time  the  division  of  Robles  was  moved  to  new  canton- 
ments near  the  capital.  Thi:;  change  suited  very  well 
the  state  of  my  domestic  and  amorous  feelings. 

"One  night,  rather  late,  I  was  called  to  my  chief.  I 
found  General  Robles  in  his  quarters,  at  ease,  with  his 
uniform  off,  drinking  neat  brandy  out  of  a  tumbler — 


CASPAR  RUIZ  51 

as  a  precaution,  he  used  to  say,  against  the  sleepless- 
ness induced  by  the  bites  of  mosquitoes.  He  was  a 
good  soldier,  and  he  taught  me  the  art  and  practice  of 
war.  No  doubt  God  has  been  merciful  to  his  soul;  for 
his  motives  were  never  other  than  patriotic,  if  his  charac- 
ter was  irascible.  As  to  the  use  of  mosquito  nets,  he  con- 
sidered it  effeminate,  shameful — unworthy  of  a  soldier. 

*'I  noticed  at  the  first  glance  that  his  face,  already 
very  red,  wore  an  expression  of  high  good-humour. 

*"Aha!  senor  teniente,'  he  cried  loudly,  as  I  saluted 
at  the  door.  'Behold!  Your  strong  man  has  turned 
up  again.' 

"He  extended  to  me  a  folded  letter,  which  I  saw  was 
superscribed:  'To  the  Commander-in-chief  of  the  Re- 
pubhcan  Armies.' 

"'This,'  Ceneral  Robles  went  on  in  his  loud  voice, 
'was  thrust  by  a  boy  into  the  hand  of  a  sentry  at  the 
Quartel  Ceneral,  while  the  fellow  stood  there  thinking 
of  his  girl,  no  doubt — for  before  he  could  gather  his 
wits  together  the  boy  had  disappeared  amongst  the 
market  people,  and  he  protests  he  could  not  recognize 
him  to  save  his  life.' 

"My  chief  told  me  further  that  the  soldier  had  given 
the  letter  to  the  sergeant  of  the  guard,  and  that  ulti- 
mately it  had  reached  the  hands  of  our  generalissimo. 
His  Excellency  had  deigned  to  take  cognizance  of  it 
with  his  own  eyes.  After  that  he  had  referred  the 
matter  in  confidence  to  General  Robles. 


52  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"The  letter,  seiiorcs,  I  cannot  now  recollect  textually. 
I  saw  the  signature  of  Caspar  Ruiz.  He  was  an  auda- 
cious fellow.  He  had  snatched  a  soul  for  himself  out  of 
a  cataclysm,  remember.  And  now  it  was  that  soul 
which  had  dictated  the  terms  of  his  letter.  Its  tone 
was  very  independent.  I  remember  it  struck  me  at  the 
time  as  noble — dignified.  It  was,  no  doubt,  her  letter. 
Now  I  shudder  at  the  depth  of  its  duplicity.  Gaspar 
Ruiz  was  made  to  complain  of  the  injustice  of  which  he 
had  been  a  victim.  He  invoked  his  previous  record  of 
fidelity  and  courage.  Having  been  saved  from  death 
by  the  miraculous  interposition  of  Providence,  he 
could  think  of  nothing  but  of  retrieving  his  character. 
This,  he  wrote,  he  could  not  hope  to  do  in  the  ranks  as 
a  discredited  soldier  still  under  suspicion.  He  had 
the  means  to  give  a  striking  proof  of  his  fidehty.  And 
he  ended  by  proposing  to  the  General-in-chief  a  meet- 
ing at  midnight  in  the  middle  of  the  Plaza  before  the 
Moneta.  The  signal  would  be  to  strike  fire  with  flint 
and  steel  three  times,  which  was  not  too  conspicuous 
and  yet  distinctive  enough  for  recognition. 

"San  Martin,  the  great  Liberator,  loved  men  of 
audacity  and  courage.  Besides,  he  was  just  and  com- 
passionate. I  told  him  as  much  of  the  man's  story  as  I 
knew,  and  was  ordered  to  accompany  him  on  the  ap- 
pointed night.  The  signals  were  duly  exchanged.  It 
was  midnight,  and  the  whole  town  was  dark  and  silent. 
Their  two  cloaked  figures  came  together  in  the  centre  of 


CASPAR  RUIZ  53 

the  vast  Plaza,  and,  keeping  discreetly  at  a  distance,  I 
listened  for  an  hour  or  more  to  the  murmur  of  their 
voices.  Then  the  General  motioned  me  to  approach; 
and  as  I  did  so  I  heard  San  jNIartin,  who  was  courteous 
to  gentle  and  simple  alike,  offer  Gaspar  Ruiz  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  headquarters  for  the  night.  But  the  soldier 
refused,  saying  that  he  would  be  not  worthy  of  that 
honour  till  he  had  done  something. 

"'You  cannot  have  a  common  deserter  for  your 
guest,  Excellency,'  he  protested  with  a  low  laugh,  and 
stepping  backward  merged  slowly  into  the  night. 

"The  Commander-in-chief  observed  to  me,  as  we 
turned  away:  'He  had  somebody  with  him,  our  friend 
Ruiz.  I  saw  two  figures  for  a  moment.  It  was  an  un- 
obtrusive companion.' 

"I,  too,  had  observed  another  figure  join  the  vanishing 
form  of  Gaspar  Ruiz.  It  had  the  appearance  of  a  short 
fellow  in  a  poncho  and  a  big  hat.  And  I  wondered 
stupidly  who  it  could  be  he  had  dared  take  into  his  con- 
fidence. I  might  have  guessed  it  could  be  no  one  but 
that  fatal  girl — alas! 

"Where  he  kept  her  concealed  I  do  not  know.  He 
had — it  was  known  afterward — an  uncle,  his  mother's 
brother,  a  small  shopkeeper  in  Santiago.  Perhaps  it 
was  there  that  she  found  a  roof  and  food.  "VMiatever 
she  found,  it  was  poor  enough  to  exasperate  her  pride 
and  keep  up  her  anger  and  hate.  It  is  certain  she  did 
not  accompany  him  on  the  feat  he  undertook  to  ac- 


54  A  SET  OF  SIX 

complish  first  of  all.  It  was  nothing  less  than  the 
destruction  of  a  store  of  war  material  collected  secretly 
by  the  Spanish  authorities  in  the  south,  in  a  town  called 
Linares.  Caspar  Ruiz  was  entrusted  with  a  small 
party  only,  but  they  proved  themselves  worthy  of 
San  Martin's  confidence.  The  season  was  not  pro- 
pitious. They  had  to  swim  swollen  rivers.  They 
seemed,  however,  to  have  galloped  night  and  day,  out- 
riding the  news  of  their  foray,  and  holding  straight  foi 
the  town,  a  hundred  miles  into  the  enemy's  country, 
till  at  break  of  day  they  rode  into  it  sword  in  hand^ 
surprising  the  little  garrison.  It  fled  without  making  a 
stand,  leaving  most  of  its  officers  in  Caspar  Ruiz' 
hands. 

"A  great  explosion  of  gunpowder  ended  the  con- 
flagration of  the  magazines  the  raiders  had  set  on  fire 
without  loss  of  time.  In  less  than  six  hours  they  were 
riding  away  at  the  same  mad  speed,  without  the  loss  of 
a  single  man.  Cood  as  they  were,  such  an  exploit  is 
not  performed  without  a  still  better  leadership. 

"I  was  dining  at  the  headquarters  when  Caspar 
Ruiz  himself  brought  the  news  of  his  success.  And  it 
was  a  great  blow  to  the  Royalist  troops.  For  a  proof  he 
displayed  to  us  the  garrison's  flag.  He  took  it  from 
under  his  poncho  and  flung  it  on  the  table.  The  man 
was  transfigured;  there  was  something  exulting  and 
menacing  in  the  expression  of  his  face.  He  stood 
behind  Ceneral  San  Martin's  chair  and  looked  proudly 


CASPAR  RUIZ  55 

at  us  all.  He  had  a  round  blue  cap  edged  with  silver 
braid  on  his  head,  and  we  all  could  see  a  large  white 
scar  on  the  nape  of  his  sunburnt  neck. 

"Somebody  asked  him  what  he  had  done  with  the 
captured  Spanish  officers. 

"He  shrugged  his  shoulders  scornfully.  'What  a 
question  to  ask!  In  a  partisan  war  you  do  not  burden 
yourself  with  prisoners.  I  let  them  go — and  here  are 
their  sword-knots.' 

"He  flung  a  bunch  of  them  on  the  table  upon  the 
flag.  Then  General  Robles,  whom  I  was  attending 
there,  spoke  up  in  his  loud,  thick  voice:  'You  did! 
Then,  my  brave  friend,  you  do  not  know  yet  how  a  war 
like  ours  ought  to  be  conducted.  You  should  have 
done — this.'  And  he  passed  the  edge  of  his  hand 
across  his  own  throat. 

"Alas,  senores!  It  was  only  too  true  that  on  both 
sides  this  contest,  in  its  nature  so  heroic,  was  stained  by 
ferocity.  The  murmurs  that  arose  at  General  Robles' 
words  were  by  no  means  unanimous  in  tone.  But  the 
generous  and  brave  San  Martin  praised  the  humane 
action,  and  pointed  out  to  Ruiz  a  place  on  his  right 
hand.  Then  rising  with  a  full  glass,  he  proposed  a 
toast:  'Caballeros  and  comrades-in-arms,  let  us  drink 
the  health  of  Captain  Caspar  Ruiz.'  And  when  we  had 
emptied  our  glasses:  'I  intend,'  the  Commander-in- 
chief  continued,  'to  entrust  him  with  the  guardianship 
^f  our  southern  frontier,  while  we  go  afar  to  liberate 


56  A  SET  OF  SIX 

our  brethren  in  Peru.  He  whom  the  enemy  could  not 
stop  from  striking  a  blow  at  his  very  heart  will  know 
how  to  protect  the  peaceful  populations  we  leave  be- 
hind us  to  pursue  our  sacred  task.'  And  he  embraced 
the  silent  Caspar  Ruiz  by  his  side. 

"Later  on,  when  we  all  rose  from  table,  I  approached 
the  latest  officer  of  the  army  with  my  congratulations. 
'And,  Captain  Ruiz,'  I  added,  'perhaps  you  do  not 
mind  telling  a  man,  who  has  always  believed  in  the 
uprightness  of  your  character,  what  became  of  Dona 
Erminia  on  that  night?' 

"At  this  friendly  question  his  aspect  changed.  He 
looked  at  me  from  under  his  eyebrows  with  the  heavy, 
dull  glance  of  a  guasso — of  a  peasant.  '  Senor  temente,* 
he  said  thickly,  and  as  if  very  much  cast  down, '  do  not 
ask  me  about  the  seiiorita,  for  I  prefer  not  to  think 
about  her  at  all  when  I  am  amongst  you.' 

"He  looked,  with  a  frown,  all  about  the  room,  full  of 
smoking  and  talking  officers.  Of  course  I  did  not 
insist. 

"These,  sefiores,  were  the  last  words  I  was  to  hear  him 
utter  for  a  long,  long  time.  The  very  next  day  we  em- 
barked for  our  arduous  expedition  to  Peru,  and  we  only 
heard  of  Caspar  Ruiz'  doings  in  the  midst  of  battles  of 
our  own.  He  had  been  appointed  military  guardian  of 
our  southern  province.  He  raised  a  partida.  But  his 
leniency  to  the  conquered  foe  displeased  the  Civil 
Governor,   who   was   a   formal,   uneasy   man,   full   of 


GASP.\R  RUIZ  57 

suspicions.  He  forwarded  reports  against  Caspar  Ruiz 
to  the  Supreme  Government;  one  of  them  being  that 
he  had  married  pubHcly,  with  great  pomp,  a  woman  of 
RoyaHst  tendencies.  Quarrels  were  sure  to  arise  be- 
tween these  two  men  of  very  different  character.  At 
last  the  Civil  Governor  began  to  complain  of  his  in- 
activity, and  to  hint  at  treachery,  which,  he  wrote, 
would  be  not  surprising  in  a  man  of  such  antecedents. 
Gaspar  Ruiz  heard  of  it.  His  rage  flamed  up,  and  the 
woman  ever  by  his  side  knew  how  to  feed  it  with  per- 
fidious words.  I  do  not  know  whether  really  the  Su- 
preme Government  ever  did — as  he  complained  after- 
ward— send  orders  for  his  arrest.  It  seems  certain 
that  the  Civil  Governor  began  to  tamper  with  his 
officers,  and  that  Gaspar  Ruiz  discovered  the  fact. 

"One  evening,  when  the  Governor  was  giving  a 
iertullia,  Gaspar  Ruiz,  followed  by  six  men  he  could 
trust,  appeared  riding  through  the  town  to  the  door  of 
the  Government  House,  and  entered  the  sala  armed,  his 
hat  on  his  head.  As  the  Governor,  displeased,  ad- 
vanced to  meet  him,  he  seized  the  wretched  man  round 
the  body,  carried  him  off  from  the  midst  of  the  appalled 
guests  as  though  he  were  a  child,  and  flung  him  down 
the  outer  steps  into  the  street.  An  angry  hug  from 
Gaspar  Ruiz  was  enough  to  crush  the  life  out  of  a  giant; 
but  in  addition  Gaspar  Ruiz'  horsemen  fired  their 
pistols  at  the  body  of  the  Governor  as  it  lay  motionless 
at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 


68  A  SET  OF  SIX 


X 


"After  this — as  he  called  it — act  of  justice,  Ruiz 
crossed  the  Rio  Blanco,  followed  by  the  greater  part 
of  his  band,  and  entrenched  himself  upon  a  hill.  A 
company  of  regular  troops  sent  out  foolishly  against 
him  was  surrounded,  and  destroyed  almost  to  a  man. 
Other  expeditions,  though  better  organized,  were 
equally  unsuccessful. 

"It  was  during  these  sanguinary  skirmishes  that 
his  wife  first  began  to  appear  on  horseback  at  his 
right  hand.  Rendered  proud  and  self-confident  by  his 
successes,  Ruiz  no  longer  charged  at  the  head  of  his 
partida,  but  presumptuously,  like  a  general  directing 
the  movements  of  an  army,  he  remained  in  the  rear, 
well  mounted  and  motionless  on  an  eminence,  sending 
out  his  orders.  She  was  seen  repeatedly  at  his  side,  and 
for  a  long  time  was  mistaken  for  a  man.  There  was 
much  talk  then  of  a  mysterious  white-faced  chief,  to 
whom  the  defeats  of  our  troops  were  ascribed.  She 
rode  like  an  Indian  woman,  astride,  wearing  a  broad- 
rimmed  man's  hat  and  a  dark  poncho.  Afterward,  in 
the  day  of  their  greatest  prosperity,  this  poncho  was 
embroidered  in  gold,  and  she  wore  then,  also,  the  sword 
of  poor  Don  Antonio  de  Leyva.  This  veteran  Chilian 
officer,  having  the  misfortune  to  be  surrounded  with  his 
small  force,  and  running  short  of  ammunition,  found 
his  death  at  the  hands  of  the  Arauco  Indians,  the  allies 


CASPAR  RUIZ  59 

and  auxiliaries  of  Caspar  Ruiz.  This  was  the  fatal 
affair  long  remembered  afterward  as  the  'Massacre 
of  the  Island.'  The  sword  of  the  unhappy  officer 
was  presented  to  her  by  Peneleo,  the  Araucanian  chief; 
for  these  Indians,  struck  by  her  aspect,  the  deathly 
pallor  of  her  face,  which  no  exposure  to  the  weather 
seemed  to  affect,  and  her  calm  indifference  under  fire, 
looked  upon  her  as  a  supernatural  being,  or  at  least  as  a 
witch.  By  this  superstition  the  prestige  and  authority 
of  Caspar  Ruiz  amongst  these  ignorant  people  were 
greatly  augmented.  She  must  have  savoured  her 
vengeance  to  the  full  on  that  day  when  she  buckled  on 
the  sword  of  Don  Antonio  de  Leyva.  It  never  left 
her  side,  unless  she  put  on  her  woman's  clothes — not 
that  she  would  or  could  ever  use  it,  but  she  loved  to  feel 
it  beating  upon  her  thigh  as  a  perpetual  reminder  and 
symbol  of  the  dishonour  to  the  arms  of  the  Republic. 
She  was  insatiable.  Moreover,  on  the  path  she  had  led 
Caspar  Ruiz  upon,  there  is  no  stopping.  Escaped 
prisoners — and  they  were  not  many — used  to  relate  how 
with  a  few  whispered  words  she  could  change  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  and  revive  his  flagging  animosity. 
They  told  how  after  every  skirmish,  after  every  raid, 
after  every  successful  action,  he  would  ride  up  to  her 
and  look  into  her  face.  Its  haughty  calm  was  never 
relaxed.  Her  embrace,  senorcs,  must  have  been  as 
cold  as  the  embrace  of  a  statue.  He  tried  to  melt  her 
icy  heart  in  a  stream  of  warm  blood.     Some  English 


60  A  SET  OF  SIX 

naval  officers  who  visited  him  at  that  time  noticed  the 
strange  character  of  his  infatuation." 

At  the  movement  of  surprise  and  curiosity  in  his 
audience  General  Santierra  paused  for  a  moment. 

"Yes — English  naval  officers,"  he  repeated.  "Ruiz 
had  consented  to  receive  them  to  arrange  for  the  libera- 
tion of  some  prisoners  of  your  nationality.  In  the 
territory  upon  which  he  ranged,  from  seacoast  to  the 
Cordilleras,  there  was  a  bay  where  the  ships  of  that  time, 
after  rounding  Cape  Horn,  used  to  resort  for  wood  and 
water.  There,  decoying  the  crew  on  shore,  he  cap- 
tured first  the  whaling  brig  Hersalia,  and  afterward 
made  himself  master  by  surprise  of  two  more  ships,  one 
English  and  one  American. 

"It  was  rumoured  at  the  time  that  he  dreamed  of 
setting  up  a  navy  of  his  own.  But  that,  of  course,  was 
impossible.  Still,  manning  the  brig  with  part  of  her 
own  crew,  and  putting  an  officer  and  a  good  many  men 
of  his  own  on  board,  he  sent  her  off  to  the  Spanish 
Governor  of  the  island  of  Chiloe  with  a  report  of  his 
exploits,  and  a  demand  for  assistance  in  the  war  against 
the  rebels.  The  Governor  could  not  do  much  for  him; 
but  he  sent  in  return  two  light  field-pieces,  a  letter  of  com- 
pliments, with  a  colonel's  commission  in  the  royal  forces, 
and  a  great  Spanish  flag.  This  standard  with  much 
ceremony  was  hoisted  over  his  house  in  the  heart  of  the 
Arauco  country.  Surely  on  that  day  she  may  have  smiled 
on  her  guasso  husband  with  a  less  haughty  reserve. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  61 

"The  senior  officer  of  the  English  squadron  on  our 
coast  made  representations  to  our  Government  as  to 
these  captures.  But  Gaspar  Ruiz  refused  to  treat  with 
us.  Then  an  English  frigate  proceeded  to  the  bay,  and 
her  captain,  doctor,  and  two  lieutenants  travelled 
inland  under  a  safe-conduct.  They  were  well  received, 
and  spent  three  days  as  guests  of  the  partisan  chief.  A 
sort  of  military  barbaric  state  was  kept  up  at  the  resi- 
dence. It  was  furnished  with  the  loot  of  frontier 
towns.  When  first  admitted  to  the  principal  sala, 
they  saw  his  wife  lying  dowTi  (she  was  not  in  good 
health  then),  with  Gaspar  Ruiz  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the 
couch.  His  hat  was  lying  on  the  floor,  and  his  hands 
reposed  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

"During  that  first  conversation  he  never  removed 
his  big  hands  from  the  sword-hilt,  except  once,  to 
arrange  the  coverings  about  her,  with  gentle,  careful 
touches.  They  noticed  that  whenever  she  spoke  he 
would  fix  his  eyes  upon  her  in  a  kind  of  expectant, 
breathless  attention,  and  seemingly  forget  the  exis- 
tence of  the  world  and  his  own  existence,  too.  In  the 
course  of  the  farewell  banquet,  at  which  she  was  present 
reclining  on  her  couch,  he  burst  forth  into  complaints 
of  the  treatment  he  had  received.  After  General 
San  Martin's  departure  he  had  been  beset  by  spies, 
slandered  by  ci\'il  officials,  his  services  ignored,  his 
liberty  and  even  his  life  threatened  by  the  Chilian 
Government.     He  got  up  from  the  table,  thundered 


62  A  SET  OF  SIX 

execrations  pacing  the  room  wildly,  then  sat  down  on 
the  couch  at  his  wife's  feet,  his  breast  heaving,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  floor.  She  reclined  on  her  back,  her  head 
on  the  cushions,  her  eyes  nearly  closed. 

"'And  now  I  am  an  honoured  Spanish  oflScer,'  he 
added  in  a  calm  voice. 

"The  captain  of  the  English  frigate  then  took  the 
opportunity  to  inform  him  gently  that  Lima  had  fallen 
and  that  by  the  terms  of  a  convention  the  Spaniards 
were  withdrawing  from  the  whole  continent. 

"Caspar  Ruiz  raised  his  head,  and  without  hesitation, 
speaking  with  suppressed  vehemence,  declared  that  if 
not  a  single  Spanish  soldier  were  left  in  the  whole  of 
South  America  he  would  persist  in  carrying  on  the 
contest  against  Chile  to  the  last  drop  of  blood.  When 
he  finished  that  mad  tirade  his  wife's  long  white  hand 
was  raised,  and  she  just  caressed  his  knee  with  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  for  a  fraction  of  a  second. 

"For  the  rest  of  the  oflficers'  stay,  which  did  not 
extend  for  more  than  half  an  hour  after  the  banquet, 
that  ferocious  chieftain  of  a  desperate  partida  over- 
flowed with  amiability  and  kindness.  He  had  been 
hospitable  before,  but  now  it  seemed  as  though  he 
could  not  do  enough  for  the  comfort  and  safety  of  his 
visitors'  journey  back  to  their  ship. 

"Nothing,  I  have  been  told,  could  have  presented  a 
greater  contrast  to  his  late  violence  or  the  habitual 
taciturn  reserve  of  his  manner.     Like  a  man  elated 


CASPAR  RUIZ  68 

beyond  measure  by  an  unexpected  happiness,  he  over- 
flowed with  good-will,  amiability,  and  attentions.  He 
embraced  the  officers  like  brothers,  almost  with  tears  in 
his  eyes.  The  released  prisoners  were  presented  each 
with  a  piece  of  gold.  At  the  last  moment,  suddenly,  he 
declared  he  could  do  no  less  than  restore  to  the  masters 
of  the  merchant  vessels  all  their  private  property.  This 
unexpected  generosity  caused  some  delay  in  the  de- 
parture of  the  party,  and  their  first  march  was  very 
short. 

"Late  in  the  evening  Caspar  Ruiz  rode  up  with  an 
escort,  to  their  campfires,  bringing  along  with  him  a 
mule  loaded  with  cases  of  wine.  He  had  come,  he 
said,  to  drink  a  stirrup  cup  with  his  English  friends, 
whom  he  would  never  see  again.  He  was  mellow  and 
joyous  in  his  temper.  He  told  stories  of  his  own  ex- 
ploits, laughed  like  a  boy,  borrowed  a  guitar  from  the 
Englishmen's  chief  muleteer,  and  sitting  cross-legged 
on  his  superfine  poncho  spread  before  the  glow  of  the 
embers,  sang  a  guasso  love-song  in  a  tender  voice. 
Then  his  head  dropped  on  his  breast,  his  hands  fell 
to  the  ground;  the  guitar  rolled  off  fiis  knees — and  a 
great  hush  fell  over  the  camp  after  the  love-song  of 
the  implacable  partisan  who  had  made  so  many  of 
our  people  weep  for  destroyed  homes  and  for  loves  cut 
short. 

"Before  anybody  could  make  a  sound  he  sprang  up 
from  the  ground  and  called  for  his  horse. 


64  A  SET  OF  SIX 

***Adios,  my  friends!'  he  cried.  'Go  with  God.  I 
love  you.  And  tell  them  well  in  Santiago  that  between 
Gaspar  Ruiz,  colonel  of  the  Kjng  of  Spain,  and  the 
Republican  carrion-crows  of  Chile  there  is  war  to  the 
last  breath — war!  war!  war!' 

"With  a  great  yell  of  'War!  war!  war!'  which  his 
escort  took  up,  they  rode  away,  and  the  sound  of  hoofs 
and  of  voices  died  out  in  the  distance  between  the 
slopes  of  the  hills. 

"The  two  young  English  officers  were  convinced  that 
Ruiz  was  mad.  How  do  you  say  that? — tile  loose — eh? 
But  the  doctor,  an  observant  Scotsman  with  much 
shrewdness  and  philosophy  in  his  character,  told  me 
that  it  was  a  very  curious  case  of  possession.  I  met  him 
many  years  afterward,  but  he  remembered  the  experi- 
ence very  well.  He  told  me,  too,  that  in  his  opinion  that 
woman  did  not  lead  Gaspar  Ruiz  into  the  practice  of 
sanguinary  treachery  by  direct  persuasion,  but  by  the 
subtle  way  of  awakening  and  keeping  alive  in  his  simple 
mind  a  burning  sense  of  an  irreparable  wrong.  Maybe, 
maybe.  But  I  would  say  that  she  poured  half  of  her 
vengeful  soul  into  the  strong  clay  of  that  man,  as  you 
may  pour  intoxication,  madness,  poison  into  an  empty 
cup. 

"K  he  wanted  war  he  got  it  in  earnest  when  our 
victorious  army  began  to  return  from  Peru.  Syste- 
matic operations  were  planned  against  this  blot  on  the 
honour  and  prosperity  of  our  hardly  won  independence. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  C5 

vjreneral  Robles  commanded,  with  his  well-known  ruth- 
less severity.  Savage  reprisals  were  exercised  on  both 
sides,  and  no  quarter  was  given  in  the  field.  Having 
won  my  promotion  in  the  Peru  campaign,  I  was  a 
captain  on  the  staff. 

"Gaspar  Ruiz  found  himself  hard  pressed;  at  the 
same  time  we  heard  by  means  of  a  fugitive  priest 
who  had  been  carried  off  from  his  village  presbytery, 
and  galloped  eighty  miles  into  the  hills  to  perform  the 
christening  ceremony,  that  a  daughter  was  born  to 
them.  To  celebrate  the  event,  I  suppose,  Ruiz  exe- 
cuted one  or  two  brilliant  forays  clear  away  at  the 
rear  of  our  forces,  and  defeated  the  detachments  sent 
out  to  cut  off  his  retreat.  General  Robles  nearly  had 
a  stroke  of  apoplexy  from  rage.  He  found  another 
cause  of  insomnia  than  the  bites  of  mosquitoes;  but 
against  this  one,  sefiores,  tumblers  of  raw  brandy  had 
no  more  effect  than  so  much  water.  He  took  to  railing 
and  storming  at  me  about  my  strong  man.  And  from 
our  impatience  to  end  this  inglorious  campaign  I  am 
afraid  that  we  all  young  officers  became  reckless  and 
apt  to  take  undue  risks  on  service. 

"Nevertheless,  slowly,  inch  by  inch  as  it  were,  our 
columns  were  closing  upon  Gaspar  Ruiz,  though  he  had 
managed  to  raise  all  the  Araucanian  nation  of  wild 
Indians  against  us.  Then  a  year  or  more  later  our 
Government  became  aware  through  its  agents  and  spies 
that  he  had  actually  entered  into  alliance  with  Car- 


66  A  SET  OF  SIX 

reras,  the  so-called  dictator  of  the  so-called  republic  of 
Mendoza,  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains.  Whether 
Gaspar  Ruiz  had  a  deep  political  intention,  or  whether 
he  wished  only  to  secure  a  safe  retreat  for  his  wife  and 
child  while  he  pursued  remorselessly  against  us  his  war 
of  surprises  and  massacres,  I  cannot  tell.  The  alhance, 
however,  was  a  fact.  Defeated  in  his  attempt  to 
check  our  advance  from  the  sea,  he  retreated  with  his 
usual  swiftness,  and  preparing  for  another  hard  and 
hazardous  tussle,  began  by  sending  his  wife  with  the 
little  girl  across  the  Pequena  range  of  mountains,  on 
the  frontier  of  Mendoza. 

XI 

"Now  Carreras,  under  the  guise  of  politics  and  liberal- 
ism, was  a  scoundrel  of  the  deepest  dye,  and  the 
unhappy  state  of  Mendoza  was  the  prey  of  thieves, 
robbers,  traitors,  and  murderers,  who  formed  his  party. 
He  was  under  a  noble  exterior  a  man  without  heart, 
pity,  honour,  or  conscience.  He  aspired  to  nothing  but 
tyranny,  and  though  he  would  have  made  use  of  Gas- 
par  Ruiz  for  his  nefarious  designs,  yet  he  soon  became 
aware  that  to  propitiate  the  Chilian  Government 
would  answer  his  purpose  better.  I  blush  to  say  that 
he  made  proposals  to  our  Government  to  deliver  up  on 
certain  conditions  the  wife  and  child  of  the  man  who 
had  trusted  to  his  honour,  and  that  this  offer  was  ac- 
cepted. 


GASPAR  RUIZ  67 

"While  on  her  way  to  Mendoza  over  the  Pequena 
Pass  she  was  betrayed  by  her  escort  of  Carreras'  men, 
and  given  up  to  the  oflBcer  in  command  of  a  Chihan  fort 
on  the  upland  at  the  foot  of  the  main  Cordillera  range. 
This  atrocious  transaction  might  have  cost  me  dear,  for 
as  a  matter  of  fact  I  was  a  prisoner  in  Caspar  Ruiz' 
camp  when  he  received  the  news.  I  had  been  captured 
during  a  reconnaissance,  my  escort  of  a  few  troopers 
being  speared  by  the  Indians  of  his  bodyguard.  I  was 
saved  from  the  same  fate  because  he  recognized  my 
features  just  in  time.  No  doubt  my  friends  thought  I 
was  dead,  and  I  would  not  have  given  much  for  my  life 
at  any  time.  But  the  strong  man  treated  me  very  well, 
because,  he  said,  I  had  always  believed  in  his  innocence 
and  had  tried  to  serve  him  when  he  was  a  victim  of 
injustice. 

"'And  now,'  was  his  speech  to  me,  *you  shall  see 
that  I  always  speak  the  truth.     You  are  safe.' 

"I  did  not  think  I  was  very  safe  when  I  was  called 
up  to  go  to  him  one  night.  He  paced  up  and  down 
like  a  wild  beast,  exclaiming,  'Betrayed!  Betrayed!' 

"He  walked  up  to  me  clenching  his  fists.  'I  could 
cut  your  throat.' 

"'Will  that  give  your  wife  back  to  you.^'  I  said  as 
quietly  as  I  could. 

"'And  the  child!'  he  yelled  out,  as  if  mad.  He  fell 
into  a  chair  and  laughed  in  a  frightful,  boisterous 
manner.     *0h,  no,  you  are  safe.' 


68  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"I  assured  him  that  his  wife's  life  was  safe,  too;  but 
I  did  not  say  what  I  was  convinced  of — that  he  would 
never  see  her  again.  He  wanted  war  to  the  death,  and 
the  war  could  only  end  with  his  death. 

"He  gave  me  a  strange,  inexplicable  look,  and  sat 
muttering  blankly,  'In  their  hands.     In  their  hands.' 

"I  kept  as  still  as  a  mouse  before  a  cat. 

"Suddenly  he  jumped  up.  'What  am  I  doing  here?' 
he  cried;  and  opening  the  door,  he  yelled  out  orders 
to  saddle  and  mount.  'What  is  it?'  he  stammered, 
coming  up  to  me.  'The  Pequena  fort;  a  fort  of  pali- 
sades! Nothing.  I  would  get  her  back  if  she  were 
hidden  in  the  very  heart  of  the  mountain.'  He  amazed 
me  by  adding,  with  an  effort:  'I  carried  her  off  in  my 
two  arms  while  the  earth  trembled.  And  the  child  at 
least  is  mine.     She  at  least  is  mine!' 

"Those  were  bizarre  words;  but  I  had  no  time  for 
wonder. 

"'You  shall  go  with  me,'  he  said  violently.  'I  may 
want  to  parley,  and  any  other  messenger  from  Ruiz,  the 
outlaw,  would  have  his  throat  cut.' 

"This  was  true  enough.  Between  him  and  the  rest 
of  incensed  mankind  there  could  be  no  communication, 
according  to  the  customs  of  honourable  warfare. 

"In  less  than  half  an  hour  we  were  in  the  saddle, 
flying  wildly  through  the  night.  He  had  only  an  escort 
of  twenty  men  at  his  quarters,  but  would  not  wait  for 
more.     He  sent,  however,  messengers  to  Peneleo,  the 


CASPAR  RUIZ  69 

Indian  chief  then  ranging  in  the  foothills,  directing 
him  to  bring  his  warriors  to  the  uplands  and  meet  him 
at  the  lake  called  the  Eye  of  Water,  near  whose  shores 
the  frontier  fort  of  Pequena  was  built. 

"We  crossed  the  lowlands  with  that  untired  rapidity 
of  movement  which  had  made  Caspar  Ruiz'  raids  so 
famous.  We  followed  the  lower  valleys  up  to  their 
precipitous  heads.  The  ride  was  not  \vithout  its 
dangers.  A  cornice  road  on  a  perpendicular  wall  of 
basalt  wound  itself  around  a  buttressing  rock,  and  at 
last  we  emerged  from  the  gloom  of  a  deep  gorge  upon 
the  upland  of  Pequena. 

"It  was  a  plain  of  green  wiry  grass  and  thin  flowering 
bushes;  but  high  above  our  heads  patches  of  snow 
hung  in  the  folds  and  crevices  of  the  great  walls  of 
rock.  The  little  lake  was  as  round  as  a  staring  eye. 
The  garrison  of  the  fort  were  just  driving  in  their  small 
herd  of  cattle  when  we  appeared.  Then  the  great 
wooden  gates  swung  to,  and  that  four-square  enclosure 
of  broad  blackened  stakes  pointed  at  the  top  and  barely 
hiding  the  grass  roofs  of  the  huts  inside  seemed  de- 
serted, empty,  without  a  single  soul. 

"But  when  summoned  to  surrender,  by  a  man  who 
at  Caspar  Ruiz'  order  rode  fearlessly  forward,  those 
inside  answered  by  a  volley  which  rolled  him  and  his 
horse  over.  I  heard  Ruiz  by  my  side  grind  his  teeth. 
'It  does  not  matter,'  he  said.     'Now  you  go.' 

"Torn  and  faded  as  its  rags  were,  the  vestiges  of  my 


70  A  SET  OF  SIX 

uniform  were  recognized,  and  I  was  allowed  to  approach 
within  speaking  distance;  and  then  I  had  to  wait,  be- 
cause a  voice  clamouring  through  a  loophole  with  joy 
and  astonishment  would  not  allow  me  to  place  a  word. 
It  was  the  voice  of  Major  Pajol,  an  old  friend.  He,  like 
my  other  comrades,  had  thought  me  killed  a  long  time 
ago. 

"*Put  spurs  to  your  horse,  man!'  he  yelled,  in  the 
greatest  excitement;  'we  will  swing  the  gate  open  for 
you.' 

**I  let  the  reins  fall  out  of  my  hand  and  shook  my 
head.     'I  am  on  my  honour,'  I  cried. 

"*To  him!'  he  shouted,  with  infinite  disgust. 

"'He  promises  you  your  life.* 

"'Our  life  is  our  own.  And  do  you,  Santierra,  ad- 
vise us  to  surrender  to  that  rastrero  ? ' 

" '  No ! '  I  shouted.  '  But  he  wants  his  wife  and  child, 
and  he  can  cut  you  off  from  water.' 

"'Then  she  would  be  the  first  to  suffer.  You  may 
tell  him  that.  Look  here — this  is  all  nonsense:  we 
shall  dash  out  and  capture  you.* 

"'You  shall  not  catch  me  alive,'  I  said  firmly. 

"'Imbecile!' 

"'For  God's  sake,'  I  continued  hastily,  'do  not  open 
the  gate.*  And  I  pointed  at  the  multitude  of  Peneleo's 
Indians  who  covered  the  shores  of  the  lake. 

"I  had  never  seen  so  many  of  these  savages  together. 
Their  lances  seemed  as  numerous  as  stalks  of  grass. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  71 

Their  hoarse  voices  made  a  vast,  inarticulate  sound 
like  the  murmur  of  the  sea. 

"My  friend  Pajol  was  swearing  to  himself.  'Well, 
then — ^go  to  the  devil!'  he  shouted,  exasperated.  But 
as  I  swung  round  he  repented,  for  I  heard  him  say 
hurriedly,  'Shoot  the  fool's  horse  before  he  gets  away.' 

"He  had  good  marksmen.  Two  shots  rang  out, 
and  in  the  very  act  of  turning,  my  horse  staggered,  fell, 
and  lay  still  as  if  struck  by  lightning.  I  had  my  feet 
out  of  the  stirrups  and  rolled  clear  of  him;  but  I  did 
not  attempt  to  rise.  Neither  dared  they  rush  out  to 
drag  me  in. 

"The  masses  of  Indians  had  begun  to  move  upon  the 
fort.  They  rode  up  in  squadrons,  trailing  their  long 
chusos;  then  dismounted  out  of  musket-shot,  and,  throw- 
ing ofiF  their  fur  mantles,  advanced  naked  to  the  attack, 
stamping  their  feet  and  shouting  in  cadence.  A  sheet 
of  flame  ran  three  times  along  the  face  of  the  fort  with- 
out checking  their  steady  march.  They  crowded  right 
up  to  the  very  stakes,  flourishing  their  broad  knives. 
But  this  palisade  was  not  fastened  together  with  hide 
lashings  in  the  usual  way,  but  with  long  iron  nails, 
which  they  could  not  cut.  Dismayed  at  the  failure  of 
their  usual  method  of  forcing  an  entrance,  the  heathen, 
who  had  marched  so  steadily  against  the  musketry 
fire,  broke  and  fled  under  the  volleys  of  the  besieged. 

"Directly  they  had  passed  me  on  their  advance  I 
got  up  and  rejoined  Gaspar  Ruiz  on  a  low  ridge  which 


72  A  SET  OF  SIX 

jutted  out  upon  the  plain.  The  musketry  of  his  own 
men  had  covered  the  attack,  but  now  at  a  sign  from 
him  a  trumpet  sounded  the  'Cease  fire.'  Together 
we  looked  in  silence  at  the  hopeless  rout  of  the  savages. 

"Tt  must  be  a  siege,  then,'  he  muttered.  And  I 
detected  him  wringing  his  hands  stealthily. 

"But  what  sort  of  siege  could  it  be?  Without  any 
need  for  me  to  repeat  my  friend  Pajol's  message,  he 
dared  not  cut  the  water  off  from  the  besieged.  They 
had  plenty  of  meat.  And,  indeed,  if  they  had  been 
short,  he  would  have  been  too  anxious  to  send  food  into 
the  stockade  had  he  been  able.  But,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  was  we  on  the  plain  who  were  beginning  to  feel 
the  pinch  of  hunger. 

"Peneleo,  the  Indian  chief,  sat  by  our  fire  folded  in 
his  ample  mantle  of  guanaco  skins.  He  was  an  athletic 
savage,  with  an  enormous  square  shock  head  of  hair 
resembling  a  straw  beehive  in  shape  and  size,  and  with 
grave,  surly,  much-lined  features.  In  his  broken  Span- 
ish he  repeated,  growling  like  a  bad-tempered  wild 
beast,  that  if  an  opening  ever  so  small  were  made  in  the 
stockade  his  men  would  march  in  and  get  the  sefiora — 
not  otherwise. 

"Caspar  Ruiz,  sitting  opposite  him,  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  fort  night  and  day  as  it  were,  in  awful 
silence  and  immobility.  Meantime,  by  runners  from 
the  lowlands  that  arrived  nearly  every  day,  we  heard 
of  the  defeat  of  one  of  his  lieutenants  in  the  Maipu 


CASPAR  RUIZ  7S 

valley.  Scouts  sent  afar  brought  news  of  a  column  of 
infantry  advancing  through  distant  passes  to  the  relief 
of  the  fort.  They  were  slow,  but  we  could  trace  their 
toilful  progress  up  the  lower  valleys.  I  wondered  why 
Ruiz  did  not  march  to  attack  and  destroy  this  threaten- 
ing force,  in  some  wild  gorge  fit  for  an  ambuscade,  in 
accordance  with  his  genius  for  guerilla  warfare.  But  his 
genius  seemed  to  have  abandoned  him  to  his  despair. 

"It  was  obvious  to  me  that  he  could  not  tear  himself 
away  from  the  sight  of  the  fort.  I  protest  to  you, 
senores,  that  I  was  moved  almost  to  pity  by  the  sight  of 
this  powerless  strong  man  sitting  on  the  ridge,  indiffer- 
ent to  sun,  to  rain,  to  cold,  to  wind;  with  his  hands 
clasped  round  his  legs  and  his  chin  resting  on  his 
knees,  gazing — gazing — gazing. 

"And  the  fort  he  kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  was  as 
still  and  silent  as  himself.  The  garrison  gave  no  sign  of 
life.  They  did  not  even  answer  the  desultory  fire  di- 
rected at  the  loopholes. 

"One  night,  as  I  strolled  past  him,  he,  without 
changing  his  attitude,  spoke  to  me  unexpectedly.  *I 
have  sent  for  a  gun,'  he  said.  'I  shall  have  time  to  get 
her  back  and  retreat  before  your  Robles  manages  to 
crawl  up  here.' 

"He  had  sent  for  a  gun  to  the  plains. 

"It  was  long  in  coming,  but  at  last  it  came.  It  was 
a  seven-pounder  field  gun.  Dismounted  and  lashed 
crosswise  to  two  long  poles,  it  had  been  carried  up  the 


74  A  SET  OF  SIX 

narrow  paths  between  two  mules  with  ease.  His  wild 
cry  of  exultation  at  daybreak  when  he  saw  the  gun 
escort  emerge  from  the  valley  rings  in  my  ears  now. 

"But,  senores,  I  have  no  words  to  depict  his  amaze- 
ment, his  fury,  his  despair  and  distraction,  when  he 
heard  that  the  animal  loaded  with  the  gun-carriage  had, 
during  the  last  night  march,  somehow  or  other,  tumbled 
down  a  precipice.  He  broke  into  menaces  of  death  and 
torture  against  the  escort.  I  kept  out  of  his  way  all 
that  day,  lying  behind  some  bushes,  and  wondering 
what  he  would  do  now.  Retreat  was  left  for  him;  but 
he  could  not  retreat. 

*'I  saw  below  me  his  artillerist,  Jorge,  an  old  Spanish 
soldier,  building  up  a  sort  of  structure  with  heaped-up 
saddles.  The  gun,  ready  loaded,  was  lifted  on  to  that, 
but  in  the  act  of  firing  the  whole  thing  collapsed  and 
the  shot  flew  high  above  the  stockade. 

"Nothing  more  was  attempted.  One  of  the  ammu- 
nition mules  had  been  lost,  too,  and  they  had  no  more 
than  six  shots  to  fire;  amply  enough  to  batter  down  the 
gate  providing  the  gun  was  well  laid.  This  was  im- 
possible without  it  being  properly  mounted.  There 
was  no  time  nor  means  to  construct  a  carriage.  Al- 
ready every  moment  I  expected  to  hear  Robles'  bugle- 
calls  echo  amongst  the  crags. 

"Peneleo,  wandering  about  uneasily,  draped  in  his 
skins,  sat  down  for  a  moment  near  me  growling  his 
usual  tale. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  75 

"'Make  an  entrada — a  hole.  If  make  a  hole,  hueno. 
If  not  make  a  hole,  then  vamos — we  must  go  away.' 

"After  sunset  I  observed  with  surprise  the  Indians 
making  preparations  as  if  for  another  assault.  Their 
lines  stood  ranged  in  the  shadows  of  the  mountains. 
On  the  plain  in  front  of  the  fort  gate  I  saw  a  group 
of  men  swaying  about  in  the  same  place. 

"I  walked  down  the  ridge  disregarded.  The  moon- 
light in  the  clear  air  of  the  uplands  was  bright  as  day, 
but  the  intense  shadows  confused  my  sight,  and  I  could 
not  make  out  what  they  were  doing.  I  heard  the  voice 
of  Jorge,  the  artillerist,  say  in  a  queer,  doubtful  tone: 
'It  is  loaded,  senor.' 

"Then  another  voice  in  that  group  pronounced  firmly 
the  words:  'Bring  the  riata  here.'  It  was  the  voice  of 
Gaspar  Ruiz. 

"A  silence  fell,  in  which  the  popping  shots  of  the 
besieged  garrison  rang  out  sharply.  They,  too,  had 
observed  the  group.  But  the  distance  was  too  great, 
and  in  the  spatter  of  spent  musket-balls  cutting  up  the 
ground,  the  group  opened,  closed,  swayed,  giving  me  a 
glimpse  of  busy  stooping  figures  in  its  midst.  I  drew 
nearer,  doubting  whether  this  was  a  weird  vision,  a 
suggestive  and  insensate  dream. 

"A  strangely  stifled  voice  commanded,  'Haul  the 
hitches  tighter.' 

"  *»Si,  senor, ^  several  other  voices  answered  in  tones  of 
awed  alacrity. 


76  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"Then  the  stifled  voice  said:  'Like  this.  I  must 
be  free  to  breathe.' 

"Then  there  was  a  concerned  noise  of  many  men 
together.  'Help  him  up,  homhres.  Steady!  Under 
the  other  arm.' 

"That  deadened  voice  ordered:  'Buenol  Stand  away 
from  me,  men.' 

"I  pushed  my  way  through  the  recoiling  circle,  and 
heard  once  more  that  same  oppressed  voice  saying 
earnestly:  'Forget  that  I  am  a  living  man,  Jorge. 
Forget  me  altogether,  and  think  of  what  you  have  to 
do.' 

"'Be  without  fear,  senor.  You  are  nothing  to  me 
but  a  gun-carriage,  and  I  shall  not  waste  a  shot.' 

"I  heard  the  spluttering  of  a  port -fire,  and  smelt  the 
saltpetre  of  the  match.  I  saw  suddenly  before  me  a 
nondescript  shape  on  all  fours  like  a  beast,  but  with  a 
man's  head  drooping  below  a  tubular  projection  over 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  the  gleam  of  a  rounded  mass 
of  bronze  on  its  back. 

"In  front  of  a  silent  semicircle  of  men  it  squatted 
alone,  with  Jorge  behind  it  and  a  trumpeter  motionless, 
his  trumpet  in  his  hand,  by  its  side. 

"Jorge,  bent  double,  muttered,  port-fire  in  hand: 
*An  inch  to  the  left,  sefior.  Too  much.  So.  Now,  if 
you  let  yourself  down  a  little  by  letting  your  elbows 
bend,  I  will     .     .     .* 

"He  leaped  aside,  lowering  his  port-fire,  and  a  burst 


GASPAR  RUIZ  77 

of  flame  darted  out  of  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  lashed 
on  the  man's  back. 

"Then  Gaspar  Ruiz  lowered  himself  slowly.  'Good 
shot?'  he  asked.  j 

"'Full  on,  senor.* 

"'Then  load  again.' 

"He  lay  there  before  me  on  his  breast  under  the 
darkly  glittering  bronze  of  his  monstrous  burden,  such 
as  no  love  or  strength  of  man  had  ever  had  to  bear  in 
the  lamentable  history  of  the  world.  His  arms  were 
spread  out,  and  he  resembled  a  prostrate  penitent  on  the 
moonlit  ground. 

"Again  I  saw  him  raised  to  his  hands  and  knees, 
and  the  men  stand  away  from  him,  and  old  Jorge  stoop, 
glancing  along  the  gun. 

"'Left  a  little.  Right  an  inch.  Por  Dios,  sefior, 
stop  this  trembling.     "VMiere  is  your  strength?' 

"The  old  gunner's  voice  was  cracked  with  emotion. 
He  stepped  aside,  and  quick  as  lightning  brought  the 
spark  to  the  touch-hole. 

"'Excellent!'  he  cried  tearfully;  but  Gaspar  Ruiz  lay 
for  a  long  time  silent,  flattened  on  the  ground. 

"*I  am  tired,'  he  murmured  at  last.  'WUl  another 
shot  do  it?' 

"'Without  doubt,'  said  Jorge,  bending  down  to  his 
ear. 

"'Then — load,'  I  heard  him  utter  distinctly.  'Trum- 
peter!' 


78  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"*I  am  here,  senor,  ready  for  your  word.' 

"'Blow  a  blast  at  this  word  that  shall  be  heard 
from  one  end  of  Chile  to  the  other,'  he  said,  in  an 
extraordinarily  strong  voice.  'And  you  others  stand 
ready  to  cut  this  accursed  riata,  for  then  will  be  the 
time  for  me  to  lead  you  in  your  rush.  Now  raise  me 
up,  and  you,  Jorge — be  quick  with  your  aim.' 

"The  rattle  of  musketry  from  the  fort  nearly  drowned 
his  voice.  The  palisade  was  wreathed  in  smoke  and 
flame. 

"'Exert  your  force  forward  against  the  recoil,  mi 
amo,'  said  the  old  gunner  shakily.  'Dig  your  fingers 
into  the  ground.     So.     Now!' 

"A  cry  of  exultation  escaped  him  after  the  shot. 
The  trumpeter  raised  his  trumpet  nearly  to  his  lips, 
and  waited.  But  no  word  came  from  the  prostrate 
man.  I  fell  on  one  knee,  and  heard  all  he  had  to  say 
then. 

"'Something  broken,'  he  whispered,  lifting  his  head 
a  little,  and  turning  his  eyes  toward  me  in  his  hope- 
lessly crushed  attitude. 

"'The  gate  hangs  only  by  the  splinters,'  yelled  Jorge. 

"  Caspar  Ruiz  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  died  out 
in  his  throat,  and  I  helped  to  roll  the  gun  off  his  broken 
back.     He  was  insensible. 

"I  kept  my  lips  shut,  of  course.  The  signal  for  the 
Indians  to  attack  was  never  given.  Instead,  the  bugle- 
calls  of  the  reheving  force,  for  which  my  ears  had  thirsted 


CASPAR  RUIZ  79 

so  long,  burst  out,  terrifying  like  the  call  of  the  Last 
Day  to  our  surprised  enemies. 

"A  tornado,  senores,  a  real  hurricane  of  stampeded 
men,  wild  horses,  mounted  Indians,  swept  over  me  as  I 
cowered  on  the  ground  by  the  side  of  Gaspar  Ruiz,  still 
stretched  out  on  his  face  in  the  shape  of  a  cross.  Pe- 
neleo,  galloping  for  life,  jabbed  at  me  with  his  long  chuso 
in  passing — for  the  sake  of  old  acquaintance,  I  suppose. 
How  I  escaped  the  flying  lead  is  more  difficult  to  ex- 
plain. Venturing  to  rise  on  my  knees  too  soon,  some 
soldiers  of  the  Seventeenth  Taltal  regiment,  in  their  hurry 
to  get  at  something  alive,  nearly  bayonetted  me  on  the 
spot.  They  looked  very  disappointed,  too,  w^hen  some 
officers  galloping  up  drove  them  away  with  the  flat  of 
their  swords. 

*'It  was  General  Robles  wdth  his  staff.  He  wanted 
badly  to  make  some  prisoners.  He,  too,  seemed  dis- 
appointed for  a  moment.  '^Aliat!  Is  it  you.'*' he  cried. 
But  he  dismounted  at  once  to  embrace  me,  for  he  was 
an  old  friend  of  my  family.  I  pointed  to  the  body  at 
our  feet  and  said  only  these  two  words: 

'"Gaspar  Ruiz.* 

*'He  threw  his  arms  up  in  astonishment. 

"'Aha!  Your  strong  man!  Alw^ays  to  the  last 
with  your  strong  man.  No  matter.  He  saved  our 
hves  w^ien  the  earth  trembled  enough  to  make  the 
bravest  faint  with  fear.  I  was  frightened  out  of  my 
wits.     But  he — no !     Que  guape !    Where's  the  hero  who 


80  A  SET  OF  SIX 

got  the  best  of  him?  ha!  ha!  ha!    What  killed  him, 
chico?* 

"'His  own  strength,  General,'  I  answered. 

"But  Caspar  Ruiz  breathed  yet.  I  had  him  carried 
in  his  poncho  under  the  shelter  of  some  bushes  on  the 
very  ridge  from  which  he  had  been  gazing  so  fixedly 
at  the  fort  while  unseen  death  was  hovering  already 
over  his  head. 

"Our  troops  had  bivouacked  round  the  fort.  Toward 
daybreak  I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  that  I  was  desig- 
nated to  command  the  escort  of  a  prisoner  who  was  to 
be  sent  down  at  once  to  Santiago.  Of  course  the 
prisoner  was  Caspar  Ruiz'  wife. 

"*I  have  named  you  out  of  regard  for  your  feehngs,' 
General  Robles  remarked.  'Though  the  woman  really 
ought  to  be  shot  for  all  the  harm  she  has  done  to  the 
Republic' 

"And  as  I  made  a  movement  of  shocked  protest,  he 
continued : 

"  *Now  he  is  as  well  as  dead,  she  is  of  no  importance. 
Nobody  will  know  what  to  do  with  her.  However,  the 
Government  wants  her.'  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
'I  suppose  he  must  have  buried  large  quantities  of  his 
loot  in  places  that  she  alone  knows  of.' 

"At  dawn  I  saw  her  coming  up  the  ridge,  guarded  by 
two  soldiers,  and  carrying  her  child  on  her  arm. 

"I  walked  to  meet  her. 


CASPAR  RUIZ  81 

*'*Is  he  living  yet?'  she  asked,  confronting  me  with 
that  white,  impassive  face  he  used  to  look  at  in  an 
adoring  way. 

*'I  bent  my  head,  and  led  her  round  a  clump  of 
bushes  without  a  word.  His  eyes  were  open.  He 
breathed  with  difficulty,  and  uttered  her  name  with  a 
great  effort. 

"'Erminia!' 

"She  knelt  at  his  head.  The  little  girl,  unconscious 
of  him,  and  with  her  big  eyes  looking  about,  began  to 
chatter  suddenly,  in  a  joyous,  thin  voice.  She  pointed 
a  tiny  finger  at  the  rosy  glow  of  sunrise  behind  the 
black  shapes  of  the  peaks.  And  while  that  child-talk, 
incomprehensible  and  sweet  to  the  ear,  lasted,  those 
two,  the  dying  man  and  the  kneeling  woman,  remained 
silent,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  listening  to 
the  frail  sound.  Then  the  prattle  stopped.  The 
child  laid  its  head  against  its  mother's  breast  and  was 
still. 

"Tt  was  for  you,'  he  began.  'Forgive.'  His  voice 
failed  him.  Presently  I  heard  a  mutter,  and  caught 
the  pitiful  words:  *Not  strong  enough.' 

"She  looked  at  him  with  an  extraordinary  intensity. 
He  tried  to  smile,  and  in  a  humble  tone,  'Forgive  me,' 
he  repeated.     'Leaving  you     .     .     .' 

"She  bent  down,  dry -eyed  and  in  a  steady  voice: 
'On  all  the  earth  I  have  loved  nothing  but  you,  Gaspar,' 
she  said. 


82  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"His  head  made  a  movement.  His  eyes  revived. 
*At  last!'  he  sighed  out.  Then,  anxiously,  'But  is  this 
true     ...     is  this  true?' 

*"As  true  as  that  there  is  no  mercy  and  justice  in 
this  world,'  she  answered  him  passionately.  She  stooped 
over  his  face.  He  tried  to  raise  his  head,  but  it  fell  back, 
and  when  she  kissed  his  lips  he  was  already  dead.  His 
glazed  eyes  stared  at  the  sky,  on  which  pink  clouds 
floated  very  high.  But  I  noticed  the  eyelids  of  the 
child,  pressed  to  its  mother's  breast,  droop  and  close 
slowly.     She  had  gone  to  sleep. 

"The  widow  of  Caspar  Ruiz,  the  strong  man,  allowed 
me  to  lead  her  away  without  shedding  a  tear. 

"For  travelling  we  had  arranged  for  her  a  side- 
saddle very  much  like  a  chair,  with  a  board  swung 
beneath  to  rest  her  feet  on.  And  the  first  day  she  rode 
without  uttering  a  word,  and  hardly  for  one  moment 
turning  her  eyes  away  from  the  little  girl,  whom  she 
held  on  her  knees.  At  our  first  camp  I  saw  her  during 
the  night  walking  about,  rocking  the  child  in  her  arms 
and  gazing  down  at  it  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  After 
we  bad  started  on  our  second  day's  march  she  asked  me 
how  soon  we  should  come  to  the  first  village  of  the  in- 
habited country. 

"  I  said  we  should  be  there  about  noon. 

"'And  will  there  be  women  there?'  she  inquired. 

"I  told  her  that  it  was  a  large  village.  'There  will 
be  men  and  women  there,  senora,'  I  said,  'whose  hearts 


CASPAR  RUIZ  83 

shall  be  made  glad  by  the  news  that  all  the  unrest  and 
war  is  over  now.' 

"'Yes,  it  is  all  over  now,'  she  repeated.  Then,  after 
a  time:  'Senor  oflScer,  what  will  your  Government  do 
with  me?' 

*"I  do  not  know,  senora,'  I  said.  'They  will  treat 
you  well,  no  doubt.  We  republicans  are  not  savages, 
and  take  no  vengeance  on  women.' 

"She  gave  me  a  look  at  the  word  'republicans'  which 
I  imagined  full  of  undying  hate.  But  an  hour  or  so 
afterward,  as  we  drew  up  to  let  the  baggage  mules  go 
first  along  a  narrow  path  skirting  a  precipice,  she  looked 
at  me  with  such  a  white,  troubled  face  that  I  felt  a  great 
pity  for  her. 

"'Senor  officer,'  she  said,  'I  am  weak,  I  tremble.  It 
is  an  insensate  fear.'  And  indeed  her  hps  did  tremble, 
while  she  tried  to  smile,  glancing  at  the  beginning  of  the 
narrow  path  which  was  not  so  dangerous  after  all.  'I  am 
afraid  I  shall  drop  the  child.  Caspar  saved  your  life, 
you  remember.     .     .     .     Take  her  from  me.' 

' '  I  took  the  child  out  of  her  extended  arms .  '  Shut  your 
eyes,  senora,  and  trust  to  your  mule,'  I  recommended. 

"She  did  so,  and  with  her  pallor  and  her  wasted 
thin  face  she  looked  deathlike.  At  a  turn  of  the  path, 
where  a  great  crag  of  purple  porphyry  closes  the  view  of 
the  lowlands,  I  saw  her  open  her  eyes.  I  rode  just 
behind  her  holding  the  little  girl  with  my  right  arm. 
'The  child  is  all  right,'  I  cried  encouragingly. 


84  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"*Yes,'  she  answered  faintly;  and  then,  to  my  intense 
terror,  I  saw  her  stand  up  on  the  foot-rest,  staring 
horribly,  and  throw  herself  forward  into  the  chasm  on 
our  right. 

"I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  sudden  and  abject 
fear  that  came  over  me  at  that  dreadful  sight.  It  was 
a  dread  of  the  abyss,  the  dread  of  the  crags  which 
seemed  to  nod  upon  me.  My  head  swam.  I  pressed 
the  child  to  my  side  and  sat  my  horse  as  still  as  a 
statue.  I  was  speechless  and  cold  all  over.  Her  mule 
staggered,  sidhng  close  to  the  rock,  and  then  went 
on.  My  horse  only  pricked  up  his  ears  with  a  slight 
snort.  My  heart  stood  still,  and  from  the  depths  of 
the  precipice  the  stones  rattling  in  the  bed  of  the  furi- 
ous stream  made  me  almost  insane  with  their  sound. 

"Next  moment  we  were  round  the  turn  and  on  a 
broad  and  grassy  slope.  And  then  I  yelled.  My  men 
came  running  back  to  me  in  great  alarm.  It  seems 
that  at  first  I  did  nothing  but  shout,  'She  has  given 
the  child  into  my  hands!  She  has  given  the  child  into 
my  hands!'     The  escort  thought  I  had  gone  mad." 

General  Santierra  ceased  and  got  up  from  the  table. 
"And  that  is  all,  senores,"  he  concluded,  with  a  courte- 
ous glance  at  his  rising  guests. 

"But  what  became  of  the  child,  General.''"  we  asked. 

"Ah,  the  child,  the  cliild." 

He  walked  to  one  of  the  windows  opening  on  his 


CASPAR  RUIZ  85 

beautiful  garden,  the  refuge  of  his  old  days.  Its  fame 
was  great  in  the  land.  Keeping  us  back  with  a  raised 
arm,  he  called  out,  "Erminia!  Erminia!"  and  waited. 
Then  his  cautioning  arm  dropped,  and  we  crowded  to 
the  windows. 

From  a  clump  of  trees  a  woman  had  come  upon  the 
broad  walk  bordered  with  flowers.  We  could  hear 
the  rustle  of  her  starched  petticoats  and  observ^ed  the 
ample  spread  of  her  old-fashioned  black  silk  skirt.  She 
looked  up,  and  seeing  all  these  eyes  staring  at  her, 
stopped,  frowned,  smiled,  shook  her  finger  at  the  Gen- 
eral, who  was  laughing  boisterously,  and  drawing  the 
black  lace  on  her  head  so  as  to  partly  conceal  her 
haughty  profile,  passed  out  of  our  sight,  walking  with 
stiff  dignity. 

"You  have  beheld  the  guardian  angel  of  the  old  man 
— and  her  to  whom  you  owe  all  that  is  seemly  and  com- 
fortable in  my  hospitality.  Somehow,  sefiores,  though 
the  flame  of  love  has  been  kindled  early  in  my  breast,  I 
have  never  married.  And  because  of  that  perhaps  the 
sparks  of  the  sacred  fire  are  not  yet  extinct  here."  He 
struck  his  broad  chest.  "Still  alive,  still  alive,"  he 
said,  with  serio-comic  emphasis.  "But  I  shall  not 
marry  now.  She  is  General  Santierra's  adopted  daugh- 
ter and  heiress." 

One  of  our  fellow-guests,  a  young  naval  oflBcer, 
described  her  afterward  as  a  "short,  stout  old  girl  of 
forty  or  thereabouts."     We  had  all  noticed  that  her  hair 


86  A  SET  OF  SIX 

was  turning  gray,  and  that  she  had  very  fine  black 
eyes. 

"And,"  General  Santierra  continued,  "neither  would 
she  ever  hear  of  marrying  any  one.  A  real  calamity! 
Good,  patient,  devoted  to  the  old  man,  A  simple  soul. 
But  I  would  not  advise  any  of  you  to  ask  for  her  hand, 
for  if  she  took  yours  into  hers  it  would  be  only  to 
crush  your  bones.  Ah!  she  does  not  jest  on  that  sub- 
ject. And  she  is  the  own  daughter  of  her  father,  the 
strong  man  who  perished  through  his  own  strength: 
the  strength  of  his  body,  of  his  simphcity — of  his  love!" 


AN  mONIC  TALE 


THE  INFORIVIER 

MR.  X.  came  to  me,  preceded  by  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction from  a  good  friend  of  mine  in  Paris, 
specifically  to  see  my  collection  of  Chinese 
bronzes  and  porcelain. 

My  friend  in  Paris  is  a  collector,  too.  He  collects 
neither  porcelain,  nor  bronzes,  nor  pictures,  nor  medals, 
nor  stamps,  nor  anything  that  could  be  profitably  dis- 
persed under  an  auctioneer's  hammer.  He  would  re- 
ject, with  genuine  surprise,  the  name  of  a  collector. 
Nevertheless,  that's  what  he  is  by  temperament.  He 
collects  acquaintances.  It  is  delicate  work.  He  brings 
to  it  the  patience,  the  passion,  the  determination  of  a 
true  collector  of  curiosities.  His  collection  does  not 
contain  any  royal  personages.  I  don't  think  he  con- 
siders them  sufficiently  rare  and  interesting;  but,  with 
that  exception,  he  has  met  with  and  talked  to  every 
one  worth  knowing  on  any  conceivable  ground.  He 
observes  them,  listens  to  them,  penetrates  them,  meas- 
ures them,  and  puts  the  memory  away  in  the  galleries 
of  his  mmd.  He  has  schemed,  plotted,  and  travelled 
all  over  Europe  in  order  to  add  to  his  collection  of  dis- 
tinguished personal  acquaintances. 

As  he  is  wealthy,  well  connected,  and  unprejudiced, 

89 


90  A  SET  OF  SIX 

his  collection  is  pretty  complete,  including  objects  (or 
should  I  say  subjects?)  whose  value  is  unappreciated 
by  the  vulgar,  and  often  unknown  to  popular  fame.  Of 
those  specimens  my  friend  is  naturally  the  most  proud. 

He  wrote  to  me  of  X.:  "He  is  the  greatest  rebel 
(revolte)  of  modern  times.  The  world  knows  him  as  a 
revolutionary  writer  whose  savage  irony  has  laid  bare 
the  rottenness  of  the  most  respectable  institutions.  He 
has  scalped  every  venerated  head,  and  has  mangled  at 
the  stake  of  his  wit  every  received  opinion  and  every 
recognized  principle  of  conduct  and  policy.  Who  does 
not  remember  his  flaming  red  revolutionary  pam- 
phlets? Their  sudden  swarmings  used  to  overwhelm  the 
powers  of  every  Continental  police  like  a  plague  of 
crimson  gadflies.  But  this  extreme  writer  has  been 
also  the  active  inspirer  of  secret  societies,  the  myste- 
rious unknown  Number  One  of  desperate  conspiracies 
suspected  and  unsuspected,  matured  or  baffled.  And 
the  world  at  large  has  never  had  an  inkling  of  that 
fact !  This  accounts  for  him  going  about  amongst  us  to 
this  day,  a  veteran  of  many  subterranean  campaigns, 
standing  aside  now,  safe  within  his  reputation  of  merely 
the  greatest  destructive  publicist  that  ever  lived.*' 

Thus  wrote  my  friend,  adding  that  Mr.  X.  was  an  en- 
lightened connoisseur  of  bronzes  and  china,  and  asking 
me  to  show  him  my  collection. 

X.  turned  up  in  due  course.  My  treasures  are  dis- 
posed in  three  large  rooms  without  carpets  and  curtains. 


THE  INFORMER  91 

There  is  no  other  furniture  than  the  etagercs  and  the 
glass  cases  whose  contents  shall  be  worth  a  fortune  to  my 
heirs.  I  allow  no  fires  to  be  lighted,  for  fear  of  accidents, 
and  a  fireproof  door  separates  them  from  the  rest  of 
the  house. 

It  was  a  bitter  cold  day.  We  kept  on  our  overcoats 
and  hats.  Middle-sized  and  spare,  his  eyes  alert  in  a 
long,  Roman-nosed  countenance,  X.  walked  on  his  neat 
little  feet,  with  short  steps,  and  looked  at  my  collection 
intelligently.  I  hope  I  looked  at  him  intelligently, 
too.  A  snow-white  moustache  and  imperial  made  his 
nut-brown  complexion  appear  darker  than  it  really  was. 
In  his  fur  coat  and  shiny  tall  hat  that  terrible  man 
looked  fashionable.  I  believe  he  belonged  to  a  noble 
family,  and  could  have  called  himself  Vicomte  X.  de  la 
Z.  if  he  chose.  We  talked  nothing  but  bronzes  and 
porcelain.  He  was  remarkably  appreciative.  We  parted 
on  cordial  terms. 

WTiere  he  was  staying  I  don't  know.  I  imagine  he 
must  have  been  a  lonely  man.  Anarchists,  I  suppose, 
have  no  families — not,  at  any  rate,  as  we  understand 
that  social  relation.  Organization  into  families  may 
answer  to  a  need  of  human  nature,  but  in  the  last  in- 
stance it  is  based  on  law,  and  therefore  must  be  some- 
thing odious  and  impossible  to  an  anarchist.  But, 
indeed,  I  don't  understand  anarchists.  Does  a  man  of 
that — of  that — persuasion  still  remain  an  anarchist 
when  alone,  quite  alone  and  going  to  bed,  for  instance? 


92  A  SET  OF  SIX 

Does  he  lay  his  head  on  the  pillow,  pull  his  bedclothes 
over  him,  and  go  to  sleep  with  the  necessity  of  the 
chamhardement  general,  as  the  French  slang  has  it,  of 
the  general  blow-up,  always  present  to  his  mind?  And 
if  so,  how  can  he?  I  am  sure  that  if  such  a  faith  (or 
such  a  fanaticism)  once  mastered  my  thoughts  I 
would  never  be  able  to  compose  myself  suflficiently 
to  sleep  or  eat  or  perform  any  of  the  routine  acts  of 
daily  life.  I  would  want  no  wife,  no  children;  I  could 
have  no  friends,  it  seems  to  me;  and  as  to  collecting 
bronzes  or  china,  that,  I  should  say,  would  be  quite 
out  of  the  question.  But  I  don't  know.  All  I  know 
is  that  Mr.  X.  took  his  meals  in  a  very  good  restau- 
rant which  I  frequented  also. 

With  his  head  uncovered,  the  silver  topknot  of  his 
brushed-up  hair  completed  the  character  of  his  physi- 
ognomy, all  bony  ridges  and  sunken  hollows,  clothed 
in  a  perfect  impassiveness  of  expression.  His  meagre 
brown  hands  emerging  from  large  white  cuffs  came  and 
went  breaking  bread,  pouring  wine,  and  so  on,  with 
quiet  mechanical  precision.  His  head  and  body  above 
the  tablecloth  had  a  rigid  immobility.  This  firebrand, 
this  great  agitator,  exhibited  the  least  possible  amount 
of  warmth  and  animation.  His  voice  was  rasping, 
cold,  and  monotonous  in  a  low  key.  He  could  not  be 
called  a  talkative  personality;  but  with  his  detached 
calm  manner  he  appeared  as  ready  to  keep  the  conver- 
sation going  as  to  drop  it  at  any  moment. 


THE  INFORMER  93 

And  his  conversation  was  by  no  means  common- 
place. To  me,  I  own,  there  was  some  excitement  in 
talking  quietly  across  a  dinner-table  with  a  man  whose 
venomous  pen-stabs  had  sapped  the  vitality  of  at  least 
one  monarchy.  That  much  was  a  matter  of  public 
knowledge.  But  I  knew  more.  I  knew  of  him — from 
my  friend — as  a  certainty  what  the  guardians  of  social 
order  in  Europe  had  at  most  only  suspected,  or  dimly 
guessed  at. 

He  had  had  what  I  may  call  his  underground  life. 
And  as  I  sat,  evening  after  evening,  facing  him  at 
dinner,  a  curiosity  in  that  direction  would  naturally 
arise  in  my  mind.  I  am  a  quiet  and  peaceable  product 
of  civilization,  and  know  no  passion  other  than  the 
passion  for  collecting  things  which  are  rare,  and  must 
remain  exquisite  even  if  approaching  to  the  monstrous. 
Some  Chinese  bronzes  are  monstrously  precious.  And 
here  (out  of  my  friend's  collection),  here  I  had  before  me 
a  kind  of  rare  monster.  It  is  true  that  this  monster  was 
polished  and  in  a  sense  even  exquisite.  His  beautiful 
unruffled  manner  was  that.  But  then  he  was  not  of 
bronze.  He  was  not  even  Chinese,  which  would  have 
enabled  one  to  contemplate  him  calmly  across  the  gulf 
of  racial  difference.  He  was  alive  and  European;  he 
had  the  manner  of  good  society,  wore  a  coat  and  hat 
like  mine,  and  had  pretty  near  the  same  taste  in  cooking. 
It  was  too  frightful  to  think  of. 

One  evening  he  remarked,  casually,  in  the  course  of 


94  A  SET  OF  SIX 

conversation,  "There's  no  amendment  to  be  got  out  of 
mankind  except  by  terror  and  violence." 

You  can  imagine  the  effect  of  such  a  phrase  out  of 
such  a  man's  mouth  upon  a  person  Hke  myself,  whose 
whole  scheme  of  life  had  been  based  upon  a  suave  and 
delicate  discrimination  of  social  and  artistic  values. 
Just  imagine!  Upon  me,  to  whom  all  sorts  and  forms 
of  violence  appeared  as  unreal  as  the  giants,  ogres,  and 
seven-headed  hydras  whose  activities  affect,  fantasti- 
cally, the  course  of  legends  and  fairy-tales! 

I  seemed  suddenly  to  hear  above  the  festive  bustle 
and  clatter  of  the  brilliant  restaurant  the  mutter  of  a 
hungry  and  seditious  multitude. 

I  suppose  I  am  impressionable  and  imaginative.  I 
had  a  disturbing  vision  of  darkness,  full  of  lean  jaws  and 
wild  eyes,  amongst  the  hundred  electric  lights  of  the 
place.  But  somehow  this  vision  made  me  angry,  too. 
The  sight  of  that  man,  so  calm,  breaking  bits  of  white 
bread,  exasperated  me.  And  I  had  the  audacity  to  ask 
him  how  it  was  that  the  starving  proletariat  of  Europe 
to  whom  he  had  been  preaching  revolt  and  violence  had 
not  been  made  indignant  by  his  openly  luxurious  life. 
"At  all  this,"  I  said,  pointedly,  with  a  glance  round  the 
room  and  at  the  bottle  of  champagne  we  generally 
shared  between  us  at  dinner. 

He  remained  unmoved. 

"Do  I  feed  on  their  toil  and  their  heart's  blood.^ 
Am  I  a  speculator  or  a  capitalist?     Did  I  steal  my 


THE  INFORMER  95 

fortune  from  a  starving  people?  No!  They  know  this 
very  well.  And  they  envy  me  nothing.  The  miserable 
mass  of  the  people  is  generous  to  its  leaders.  What  I 
have  acquired  has  come  to  me  through  my  writings;  not 
from  the  millions  of  pamphlets  distributed  gratis  to  the 
hungry  and  the  oppressed,  but  from  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  copies  sold  to  the  well-fed  bourgeois.  You 
know  that  my  writings  were  at  one  time  the  rage,  the 
fashion — the  thing  to  read  with  wonder  and  horror,  to 
turn  your  eyes  up  at  my  pathos  ...  or  else  to 
laugh  in  ecstasies  at  my  wit." 

"Yes,"  I  admitted.  "I  remember,  of  course;  and  I 
confess  frankly  that  I  could  never  understand  that  in- 
fatuation." 

"Don't  you  loiow  yet,"  he  said,  "that  an  idle  and 
selfish  class  loves  to  see  mischief  being  made,  even  if  it 
is  made  at  its  own  expense.'*  Its  own  life  being  all  a 
matter  of  pose  and  gesture,  it  is  unable  to  reahze  the 
power  and  the  danger  of  a  real  movement  and  of  words 
that  have  no  sham  meaning.  It  is  all  fun  and  senti- 
ment. It  is  sufficient,  for  instance,  to  point  out  the  atti- 
tude of  the  old  French  aristocracy  toward  the  philoso- 
phers whose  words  were  preparing  the  Great  Revolution. 
Even  in  England,  where  you  have  some  common 
sense,  a  demagogue  has  only  to  shout  loud  enough 
and  long  enough  to  find  some  backing  in  the  very  class 
he  is  shouting  at.  You,  too,  like  to  see  mischief  bein^ 
made.     The  demagogue  carries  the  amateurs  of  emo- 


96  A  SET  OF  SIX 

tion  with  him.  Amateurism  in  this,  that,  and  the 
other  thing  is  a  dehghtfully  easy  way  of  kilhng  time, 
and  of  feeding  one's  own  vanity — the  silly  vanity  of 
being  abreast  with  the  ideas  of  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
Just  as  good  and  otherwise  harmless  people  will  join 
you  in  ecstasies  over  your  collection  without  having 
the  slightest  notion  in  what  its  marvellousness  really 
consists." 

I  hung  my  head.  It  was  a  crushing  illustration  of 
the  sad  truth  he  advanced.  The  world  is  full  of  such 
people.  And  that  instance  of  the  French  aristocracy 
before  the  Revolution  was  extremely  telling,  too.  I 
could  not  traverse  his  statement,  though  its  cynicism — 
always  a  distasteful  trait — took  off  much  of  its  value, 
to  my  mind.  However,  I  admit  I  was  impressed.  I 
felt  the  need  to  say  something  which  would  not  be  in 
the  nature  of  assent  and  yet  would  not  invite  discussion. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  I  observed,  airily,  "that 
extreme  revolutionists  have  ever  been  actively  as- 
sisted by  the  infatuation  of  such  people.'^" 

"I  did  not  mean  exactly  that  by  what  I  said  just 
now.  I  generalized.  But  since  you  ask  me,  I  may  tell 
you  that  such  help  has  been  given  to  revolutionary 
activities,  more  or  less  consciously,  in  various  countries. 
And  even  in  this  country." 

"Impossible!"  I  protested  with  firmness.  "We 
don't  play  with  fire  to  that  extent." 

"And   yet   you   can   better   afford   it   than   others. 


THE  INFORMER  97 

perhaps.  But  let  me  observe  that  most  women,  if  not 
always  ready  to  play  with  fire,  are  generally  eager  to 
play  with  a  loose  spark  or  so." 

"Is  this  a  joke.^"  I  asked,  smiling. 

"If  it  is,  I  am  not  aware  of  it,"  he  said,  woodenly. 
"I  was  thinking  of  an  instance.  Oh!  mild  enough  in  a 
way     .     .     ." 

I  became  all  expectation  at  this.  I  had  tried  many 
times  to  approach  him  on  his  underground  side,  so  to 
speak.  The  very  word  had  been  pronounced  between 
us.  But  he  had  always  met  me  with  his  impenetrable 
calm. 

"And  at  the  same  time,"  Mr.  X.  continued,  "it  will 
give  you  a  notion  of  the  difficulties  that  may  arise  in 
what  you  are  pleased  to  call  underground  work.  It  is 
sometimes  difficult  to  deal  with  them.  Of  course  there 
is  no  hierarchy  amongst  the  affiliated.  No  rigid  sys- 
tem." 

My  surprise  was  great,  but  short-lived.  Clearly, 
amongst  extreme  anarchists  there  could  be  no  hier- 
archy; nothing  in  the  nature  of  a  law^  of  precedence. 
The  idea  of  anarchy  ruling  among  anarchists  was 
comforting,  too.  It  could  not  possibly  make  for 
efficiency. 

Mr.  X.  startled  me  by  asking  abruptly,  "You  know 
Hermione  Street.'" 

I  nodded  doubtful  assent.  Hermione  Street  has 
been,  within  the  last  three  years,  improved  out  of  any 


98  A  SET  OF  SIX 

man's  knowledge.  The  name  exists  still,  but  not  one 
brick  or  stone  of  the  old  Hermione  Street  is  left  now. 
It  was  the  old  street  he  meant,  for  he  said: 

"There  was  a  row  of  two-storied  brick  houses  on  the 
left,  with  their  backs  against  the  wing  of  a  great  public 
building — you  remember.  Would  it  surprise  you  very 
much  to  hear  that  one  of  these  houses  was  for  a  time 
the  centre  of  anarchist  propaganda  and  of  what  you 
would  call  underground  action.^" 

"Not  at  all,"  I  declared.  Hermione  Street  had 
never  been  particularly  respectable,  as  I  remembered  it. 

"The  house  was  the  property  of  a  distinguished 
government  official,"  he  added,  sipping  his  champagne. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  I  said,  this  time  not  believing  a  word 
of  it. 

"Of  course  he  was  not  living  there,"  Mr.  X.  con- 
tinued. "But  from  ten  till  four  he  sat  next  door  to  it, 
the  dear  man,  in  his  well-appointed  private  room  in 
the  wing  of  the  public  building  I've  mentioned.  To 
be  strictly  accurate,  I  must  explain  that  the  house  in 
Hermione  Street  did  not  really  belong  to  him.  It  be- 
longed to  his  grown-up  children — a  daughter  and  a  son. 
The  girl,  a  fine  figure,  was  by  no  means  vulgarly  pretty. 
To  more  personal  charm  than  mere  youth  could  account 
for  she  added  the  seductive  appearance  of  enthusiasm, 
of  independence,  of  courageous  thought.  I  suppose 
she  put  on  these  appearances  as  she  put  on  her  pictu- 
resque dresses  and  for  the  same  reason :  to  assert  her  in- 


THE  INFORMER  99 

dividuality  at  any  cost.  You  know,  women  would  go 
to  any  length  almost  for  such  a  purpose.  She  went  to  a 
great  length.  She  had  acquired  all  the  appropriate 
gestures  of  revolutionary  convictions — the  gestures  of 
pity,  of  anger,  of  indignation  against  the  anti-humani- 
tarian vices  of  the  social  class  to  which  she  belonged 
herself.  All  this  sat  on  her  striking  personality  as  well 
as  her  slightly  original  costumes.  Very  slightly  origi- 
nal; just  enough  to  mark  a  protest  against  the  philis- 
tinism  of  the  overfed  taskmasters  of  the  poor.  Just 
enough,  and  no  more.  It  would  not  have  done  to  go  too 
far  in  that  direction — you  understand.  But  she  was  of 
age,  and  nothing  stood  in  the  way  of  her  offering  her 
house  to  the  revolutionary  workers." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  I  cried. 

"I  assure  you,"  he  affirmed,  "that  she  made  that  very 
practical  gesture.  How  else  could  they  have  got  hold 
of  it.''  The  cause  is  not  rich.  And,  moreover,  there 
would  have  been  difficulties  with  any  ordinary  house- 
agent,  who  would  have  wanted  references  and  so  on. 
The  group  she  came  in  contact  with  while  exploring 
the  poor  quarters  of  the  town  (you  know  the  gesture 
of  charity  and  personal  service  which  was  so  fashion- 
able some  years  ago)  accepted  with  gratitude.  The 
first  advantage  was  that  Hermione  Street  is,  as  you 
know,  well  away  from  the  suspect  part  of  the  town, 
specially  watched  by  the  police. 

"The  ground  floor  consisted  of  a  little  Italian  restau- 


100  A  SET  OF  SIX 

rant,  of  the  flyblown  sort.  There  was  no  difficulty  in 
buying  the  proprietor  out.  A  woman  and  a  man  be- 
longing to  the  group  took  it  on.  The  man  had  been 
a  cook.  The  comrades  could  get  their  meals  there, 
unnoticed  amongst  the  other  customers.  This  was 
another  advantage.  The  first  floor  was  occupied  by  a 
shabby  Variety  Artists'  Agency — an  agency  for  per- 
formers in  inferior  music-halls,  you  know.  A  fellow 
called  Bomm,  I  remember.  He  was  not  disturbed.  It 
was  rather  favourable  than  otherwise  to  have  a  lot  of 
foreign-looking  people,  jugglers,  acrobats,  singers  of 
both  sexes,  and  so  on,  going  in  and  out  all  day  long. 
The  police  paid  no  attention  to  new  faces,  you  see. 
The  top  floor  happened,  most  conveniently,  to  stand 
empty  then." 

X.  interrupted  himself  to  attack  impassively,  with 
measured  movements,  a  bombe  glacee  which  the  waiter 
had  just  set  down  on  the  table.  He  swallowed  care- 
fully a  few  spoonfuls  of  the  iced  sweet,  and  asked  me: 
"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Stone's  Dried  Soup.'*" 

''Rear  oi  what?" 

"It  was,"  X.  pursued  evenly,  "a  comestible  article, 
once  rather  prominently  advertised  in  the  dailies,  but 
which  never,  somehow,  gained  the  favour  of  the  public. 
The  enterprise  fizzled  out,  as  you  say  here.  Parcels  of 
their  stock  could  be  picked  up  at  auctions  at  consider- 
ably less  than  a  penny  a  pound.  The  group  bought 
some  of  it,  and  an  agency  for  Stone's  Dried  Soup  was 


THE  INFORMER  101 

started  on  the  top  floor.  A  perfectly  respectable  busi- 
ness. The  stuff,  a  yellow  powder  of  extremely  unappe- 
tizing aspect,  was  put  up  in  large  square  tins,  of  which 
six  went  to  a  case.  If  anybody  ever  came  to  give  an 
order,  it  was,  of  course,  executed.  But  the  advantage 
of  the  powder  was  this,  that  things  could  be  concealed 
in  it  very  conveniently.  Now  and  then  a  special  case 
got  put  on  a  van  and  sent  off  to  be  exported  abroad 
under  the  very  nose  of  the  pohceman  on  duty  at  the 
corner.     You  understand  ? ' ' 

"I  think  I  do,"  I  said,  with  an  expressive  nod  at  the 
remnants  of  the  homhe  melting  slowly  in  the  dish. 

''Exactly.  But  the  cases  were  useful  in  another  way, 
too.  In  the  basement,  or  in  the  cellar  at  the  back, 
rather,  two  printing-presses  were  established.  A  lot  of 
revolutionary  literature  of  the  most  inflammatory  kind 
was  got  away  from  the  house  in  Stone's  Dried  Soup 
cases.  The  brother  of  our  anarchist  young  lady  found 
some  occupation  there.  He  wrote  articles,  helped  to 
set  up  type  and  pull  off  the  sheets,  and  generally 
assisted  the  man  in  charge,  a  very  able  young  fellow 
named  Sevrin. 

"The  guiding  spirit  of  that  group  was  a  fanatic  of 
social  revolution.  He  is  dead  now.  He  was  an  en- 
graver and  etcher  of  genius.  You  must  have  seen  his 
work.  It  is  much  sought  after  by  certain  amateurs 
now.  He  began  by  being  revolutionary  in  his  art,  and 
ended  by  becoming  a  revolutionist,  after  his  wife  and 


102  A  SET  OF  SIX 

child  had  died  in  want  and  misery.  He  used  to  say 
that  the  bourgeois,  the  smug  overfed  lot,  had  killed 
them.  That  was  his  real  belief.  He  still  worked  at 
his  art  and  led  a  double  life.  He  was  tall,  gaunt,  and 
swarthy,  with  a  long,  brown  beard  and  deep-set  eyes. 
You  must  have  seen  him.     His  name  was  Home." 

At  this  I  was  really  startled.  Of  course  years  ago  I 
used  to  meet  Home  about.  He  looked  like  a  powerful, 
rough  gipsy,  in  an  old  top  hat,  with  red  muffler  round 
his  throat,  and  buttoned  up  in  a  long,  shabby  overcoat. 
He  talked  of  his  art  with  exultation,  and  gave  one  the 
impression  of  being  strung  up  to  the  verge  of  insanity. 
A  small  group  of  connoisseurs  appreciated  his  work. 
Who  would  have  thought  that  this  man.  .  .  . 
Amazing!  And  yet  it  was  not,  after  all,  so  difficult  to 
believe. 

*'As  you  see,"  X.  went  on,  "this  group  was  in  a  posi- 
tion to  pursue  its  work  of  propaganda,  and  the  other 
kind  of  work,  too,  under  very  advantageous  conditions. 
They  were  all  resolute,  experienced  men  of  a  superior 
stamp.  And  yet  we  became  struck  at  length  by  the 
fact  that  plans  prepared  in  Hermione  Street  almost 
invariably  failed." 

"Who  were  'we'.''"  I  asked  pointedly. 

"Some  of  us  in  Brussels — at  the  centre,"  he  said 
hastily.  "Whatever  vigorous  action  originated  in  Her- 
mione Street  seemed  doomed  to  failure.  Something 
always  happened  to  baffle  the  best-planned  manifesta- 


THE  INFORMER  103 

tions  in  every  part  of  Europe.  It  was  a  time  of  general 
activity.  You  must  not  imagine  that  all  our  failures 
are  of  a  loud  sort,  with  arrests  and  trials.  That  is  not 
so.  Often  the  police  work  quietly,  almost  secretly, 
defeating  our  combinations  by  clever  counterplotting. 
No  arrests,  no  noise,  no  alarming  of  the  public  mind 
and  inflaming  of  passions.  It  is  a  wise  procedure. 
But  at  that  time  the  police  were  too  uniformly  success- 
ful from  Mediterranean  to  the  Baltic.  It  was  annoy- 
ing and  began  to  look  dangerous.  At  last  we  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  there  must  be  some  untrustworthy 
elements  amongst  the  London  groups.  And  I  came 
over  to  see  what  could  be  done  quietly. 

"My  first  step  was  to  call  upon  our  young  Lady 
Amateur  of  anarchism  at  her  private  house.  She  re- 
ceived me  in  a  flattering  way.  I  judged  that  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  chemical  and  other  operations  going  on 
at  the  top  of  the  house  in  Hermione  Street.  The  print- 
ing of  the  anarchist  literature  was  the  only  '  activity '  she 
seemed  to  be  aware  of  there.  She  was  displaying  very 
strikingly  the  usual  signs  of  severe  enthusiasm,  and  had 
already  written  many  sentimental  articles  with  ferocious 
conclusions.  I  could  see  she  was  enjoying  herself 
hugely,  with  all  the  gestures  and  grimaces  of  deadly 
earnestness.  They  suited  her  big-eyed,  broad-browed 
face  and  the  good  carriage  of  her  shapely  head,  crowned 
by  a  magnificent  lot  of  brown  hair  done  in  an  unusual 
and  becoming  style.     Her  brother  was  in  the  room,  too. 


104  A  SET  OF  SIX 

a  serious  youth,  with  arched  eyebrows  and  wearing  a  red 
necktie,  who  struck  me  as  being  absolutely  in  the  dark 
about  everything  in  the  world,  including  himself.  By 
and  by  a  tall  young  man  came  in.  He  was  clean  shaved, 
with  a  strong  bluish  jaw  and  something  of  the  air  of  a 
taciturn  actor  or  of  a  fanatical  priest:  the  type  with 
thick  black  eyebrows — you  know.  But  he  was  very 
presentable  indeed.  He  shook  hands  at  once  vigor- 
ously with  each  of  us.  The  young  lady  came  up  to  me 
and  murmured  sweetly,  '  Comrade  Sevrin.' 

*'I  had  never  seen  him  before.  He  had  little  to  say 
to  us,  but  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  girl,  and  they  fell 
at  once  into  earnest  conversation.  She  leaned  forward 
in  her  deep  armchair,  and  took  her  nicely  rounded  chin 
in  her  beautiful  white  hand.  He  looked  attentively  into 
her  eyes.  It  was  the  attitude  of  love-making,  serious, 
intense,  as  if  on  the  brink  of  the  grave.  I  suppose  she 
felt  it  necessary  to  round  and  complete  her  assumption 
of  advanced  ideas,  of  revolutionary  lawlessness,  by 
making  believe  to  be  in  love  with  an  anarchist.  And 
this  one,  I  repeat,  was  extremely  presentable,  notwith- 
standing his  fanatical  black-browed  aspect.  After  a 
few  stolen  glances  in  their  direction,  I  had  no  doubt  that 
he  was  in  earnest.  As  to  the  lady,  her  gestures  were 
unapproachable,  better  than  the  very  thing  itself  in  the 
blended  suggestion  of  dignity,  sweetness,  condescen- 
sion, fascination,  surrender,  and  reserve.  She  inter- 
preted her  conception  of  what  that  precise  sort  of  love- 


THE  INFORMER  105 

making  should  be  with  consummate  art.  And  so  far, 
she,  too,  no  doubt,  was  in  earnest.  Gestures — but  so 
perfect ! 

"After  I  had  been  left  alone  with  our  Lady  Amateur 
I  informed  her  guardedly  of  the  object  of  my  visit.  I 
hinted  at  our  suspicions.  I  wanted  to  hear  what  she 
would  have  to  say,  and  half  expected  some  perhaps 
unconscious  revelation.  All  she  said  was:  'That's 
serious,'  looking  delightfully  concerned  and  grave.  But 
there  was  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes  which  meant  plainly, 
'How  exciting!'  After  all,  she  knew  little  of  anything 
except  of  words.  Still  she  undertook  to  put  me  in 
communication  with  Home,  who  was  not  easy  to  find, 
unless  in  Hermione  Street,  where  I  did  not  wish  to  show 
myself  just  then. 

"I  met  Home.  This  was  another  kind  of  a  fanatic 
altogether.  I  exposed  to  him  the  conclusion  we  in 
Brussels  had  arrived  at,  and  pointed  out  the  signifi- 
cant series  of  failures.  To  this  he  answered  with  ir- 
relevant exaltation : 

"T  have  something  in  hand  that  shall  strike  terror 
into  the  heart  of  these  gorged  brutes.' " 

"And  then  I  learned  that,  by  excavating  in  one  of 
the  cellars  of  the  house,  he  and  some  companions  had 
made  their  way  into  the  vaults  under  the  great  public 
building  I  have  mentioned  before.  The  blowing  up  of  a 
whole  wing  was  a  certainty  as  soon  as  the  materials 
were  ready. 


106  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"I  was  not  so  appalled  at  the  stupidity  of  that  move 
as  I  might  have  been  had  not  the  usefulness  of  our 
centre  in  Hermione  Street  become  already  very  prob- 
lematical. In  fact,  in  my  opinion  it  was  much  more 
of  a  police  trap  by  this  time  than  anything  else. 

"What  was  necessary  now  was  to  discover  what,  or 
rather  who,  was  wrong,  and  I  managed  at  last  to  get 
that  idea  into  Home's  head.  He  glared,  perplexed, 
his  nostrils  working  as  if  he  were  sniffing  treachery  in 
the  air. 

"And  here  comes  a  piece  of  work  which  will  no  doubt 
strike  you  as  a  sort  of  theatrical  expedient.  And  yet 
what  else  could  have  been  done.'^  The  problem  was  to 
find  out  the  untrustworthy  member  of  the  group.  But 
no  suspicion  could  be  fastened  on  one  more  than  another. 
To  set  a  watch  upon  them  all  was  not  very  practicable. 
Besides,  that  proceeding  often  fails.  In  any  case,  it 
takes  time,  and  the  danger  was  pressing.  I  felt  certain 
that  the  premises  in  Hermione  Street  would  be  ulti- 
mately raided,  though  the  police  had  evidently  such 
confidence  in  the  informer  that  the  house,  for  the  time 
being,  was  not  even  watched.  Home  was  positive 
on  that  point.  Under  the  circumstances  it  was  an 
unfavourable  symptom.  Something  had  to  be  done 
quickly. 

"I  decided  to  organize  a  raid  myself  upon  the  group. 
Do  you  understand.'^  A  raid  of  other  trusty  comrades 
personating  the  police.     A  conspiracy  within  a  con- 


THE  INFORMER  107 

spiracy.  You  see  the  object  of  it,  of  course.  WTien 
apparently  about  to  be  arrested  I  hoped  the  informer 
would  betray  himself  in  some  way  or  other;  either  by 
some  unguarded  act  or  simply  by  his  unconcerned  de- 
meanour, for  instance.  Of  course  there  was  the  risk  of 
complete  failure  and  the  no  lesser  risk  of  some  fatal 
accident  in  the  course  of  resistance,  perhaps,  or  in  the 
efforts  at  escape.  For,  as  you  will  easily  see,  the  Her- 
mione  Street  group  had  to  be  actually  and  completely 
taken  unawares,  as  I  was  sure  they  would  be  by  the  real 
police  before  very  long.  The  informer  was  amongst 
them,  and  Home  alone  could  be  let  into  the  secret  of 
my  plan. 

"I  will  not  enter  into  the  detail  of  my  preparations. 
It  was  not  very  easy  to  arrange,  but  it  was  done  very 
well,  with  a  really  convincing  effect.  The  sham  police 
invaded  the  restuarant,  whose  shutters  were  immediately 
put  up.  The  surprise  was  perfect.  Most  of  the  Her- 
mione  Street  party  were  found  in  the  second  cellar, 
enlarging  the  hole  communicating  with  the  vaults  of 
the  great  public  building.  At  the  first  alarm,  several 
comrades  bolted  through  impulsively  into  the  aforesaid 
vault,  where,  of  course,  had  this  been  a  genuine  raid, 
they  would  have  been  hopelessly  trapped.  We  did  not 
bother  about  them  for  the  moment.  They  were  harm- 
less enough.  The  top  floor  caused  considerable  anxiety 
to  Home  and  myself.  There,  surrounded  by  tins  of 
Stone's  Dried  Soup,  a  comrade,  nick-named  the  Pro- 


108  A  SET  OF  SIX 

fessor  (he  was  an  ex-science  student)  was  engaged  in 
perfecting  some  new  detonators.  He  was  an  abstracted, 
self-confident,  sallow  little  man,  armed  with  large  round 
spectacles,  and  we  were  afraid  that  under  a  mistaken 
impression  he  would  blow  himseK  up  and  wreck  the 
house  about  our  ears.  I  rushed  upstairs  and  found 
him  already  at  the  door,  on  the  alert,  listening,  as  he 
said,  to  'suspicious  noises  down  below.'  Before  I  had 
quite  finished  explaining  to  him  what  was  going  on,  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  disdainfully  and  turned  away  to 
his  balances  and  test-tubes.  His  was  the  true  spirit  of 
an  extreme  revolutionist.  Explosives  were  his  faith,  his 
hope,  his  weapon,  and  his  sliield.  He  perished  a  couple 
of  years  afterward  in  a  secret  laboratory  through  the 
premature  explosion  of  one  of  his  improved  detonators. 
"Hurrying  down  again,  I  found  an  impressive  scene 
in  the  gloom  of  the  big  cellar.  The  man  who  person- 
ated the  inspector  (he  was  no  stranger  to  the  part)  was 
speaking  harshly,  and  giving  bogus  orders  to  his  bogus 
subordinates  for  the  removal  of  his  prisoners.  Evi- 
dently nothing  enlightening  had  happened  so  far. 
Home,  saturnine  and  swarthy,  waited  with  folded 
arms,  and  his  patient,  moody  expectation  had  an  air  of 
stoicism  well  in  keeping  with  the  situation.  I  detected 
in  the  shadows  one  of  the  Hermione  Street  group  sur- 
reptitiously chewing  up  and  swallowing  a  small  piece  of 
paper.  Some  compromising  scrap,  I  suppose;  perhaps 
just  a  note  of  a  few  names  and  addresses.     He  was  a 


THE  INFORMER  109 

true  and  faithful  'companion.'  But  the  fund  of  secret 
mahce  which  lurks  at  the  bottom  of  our  sympathies 
caused  me  to  feel  amused  at  that  perfectly  uncalled- 
for  performance.  / 

"In  every  other  respect  the  risky  experiment,  the 
theatrical  coup,  if  you  like  to  call  it  so,  seemed  to  have 
failed.  The  deception  could  not  be  kept  up  much 
longer;  the  explanation  would  bring  about  a  very 
embarrassing  and  even  grave  situation.  The  man  who 
had  eaten  the  paper  would  be  fm-ious.  The  fellows  who 
had  bolted  away  would  be  angry,  too. 

"To  add  to  my  vexation,  the  door  communicating 
with  the  other  cellar,  where  the  printing-presses  were, 
flew  open,  and  our  young  lady  revolutionist  appeared, 
a  black  silhouette  in  a  close-fitting  dress  and  a  large  hat, 
with  the  blaze  of  gas  flaring  in  there  at  her  back.  Over 
her  shoulder  I  perceived  the  arched  eyebrows  and  the 
red  necktie  of  her  brother. 

"The  last  people  in  the  world  I  wanted  to  see  then! 
They  had  gone  that  evening  to  some  amateur  concert 
for  the  delectation  of  the  poor  people,  you  know;  but 
she  had  insisted  on  leaving  early,  on  purpose  to  call  in 
Hermione  Street  on  the  way  home,  under  the  pretext  of 
having  some  work  to  do.  Her  usual  task  was  to  correct 
the  proofs  of  the  Italian  and  French  editions  of  the 
Alarm  Bell  and  the  Firebrand.''     .     .     . 

"Heavens!"  I  murmured.  I  had  been  shown  once  a 
few    copies    of    these    publications.     Nothing,    in    my 


110  A  SET  OF  SIX 

opinion,  could  have  been  less  fit  for  the  eyes  of  a  young 
lady.  They  were  the  most  advanced  things  of  the 
sort;  advanced,  I  mean,  beyond  all  bounds  of  reason 
and  decency.  One  of  them  preached  the  dissolution 
of  all  social  and  domestic  ties;  the  other  advocated 
systematic  murder.  To  think  of  a  young  girl  calmly 
tracking  printers'  errors  all  along  the  sort  of  abominable 
sentences  I  remembered  was  intolerable  to  my  senti- 
ment of  womanhood.  Mr.  X.,  after  giving  me  a 
glance,  pursued  steadily: 

"I  think,  however,  that  she  came  mostly  to  exercise 
her  fascinations  upon  Sevrin,  and  to  receive  his  homage 
in  her  queenly  and  condescending  way.  She  was 
aware  of  both — her  power  and  his  homage — and  en- 
joyed them  with,  I  daresay,  complete  innocence.  We 
have  no  ground  in  expediency  or  morals  to  quarrel 
with  her  on  that  account.  Charm  in  woman  and  ex- 
ceptional intelligence  in  man  are  a  law  unto  themselves. 
Is  it  not  so?" 

I  refrained  from  expressing  my  abhorrence  of  that 
licentious  doctrine  because  of  my  curiosity. 

"But  what  happened  then?"  I  hastened  to  ask. 

X.  went  on  crumbling  slowly  a  small  piece  of  bread 
with  a  careless  left  hand. 

"What  happened,  in  effect,"  he  confessed,  "is  that 
she  saved  the  situation." 

"She  gave  you  an  opportunity  to  end  your  rather 
sinister  farce,"  I  suggested. 


THE  INFORMER  111 

"Yes,"  he  said,  preserving  his  impassive  bearing. 
"The  farce  was  bound  to  end  soon.  And  it  ended  in  a 
very  few  minutes.  And  it  ended  well.  Had  she  not 
come  in,  it  might  have  ended  badly.  Her  brother,  of 
course,  did  not  count.  They  had  slipped  into  the  house 
quietly  some  time  before.  The  printing-cellar  had  an 
entrance  of  its  own.  Not  finding  any  one  there,  she 
sat  down  to  her  proofs,  expecting  Sevrin  to  return  to  his 
work  at  any  moment.  He  did  not  do  so.  She  grew 
impatient,  heard  through  the  door  the  sounds  of  a 
disturbance  in  the  other  cellar,  and  naturally  came  in  to 
see  what  was  the  matter. 

"Sevrin  had  been  with  us.  At  first  he  had  seemed 
to  me  the  most  amazed  of  the  whole  raided  lot.  He 
appeared  for  an  instant  as  if  paralyzed  with  astonish- 
ment. He  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  He  never  moved 
a  limb.  A  solitary  gas-jet  flared  near  his  head;  all 
the  other  lights  had  been  put  out  at  the  first  alarm. 
And  presently,  from  my  dark  corner,  I  observed  on  his 
shaven  actor's  face  an  expression  of  puzzled,  vexed 
watchfulness.  He  knitted  his  heavy  eyebrows.  The 
corners  of  his  mouth  dropped  scornfully.  He  was 
angry.  Most  hkely  he  had  seen  through  the  game,  and 
I  regretted  I  had  not  taken  him  from  the  first  into  my 
complete  confidence. 

"But  with  the  appearance  of  the  girl  he  became  ob- 
viously alarmed.  It  was  plain.  I  could  see  it  grow. 
The  change  of  his  expression  was  swift  and  startling. 


112  A  SET  OF  SIX 

And  I  did  not  know  why.  The  reason  never  occurred 
to  me.  I  was  merely  astonished  at  the  extreme  altera- 
tion of  the  man's  face.  Of  course  he  had  not  been 
aware  of  her  presence  in  the  other  cellar.  But  that  did 
not  explain  the  shock  her  advent  had  given  him.  For 
a  moment  he  seemed  to  have  been  reduced  to  imbecility. 
He  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  shout,  or  perhaps  only  to 
gasp.  At  any  rate,  it  was  somebody  else  who  shouted. 
This  somebody  else  was  the  heroic  comrade  whom  I 
had  detected  swallowing  a  piece  of  paper.  "With  laud- 
able presence  of  mind  he  let  out  a  warning  yell. 

"'It's  the  police!  Back!  Back!  Run  back,  and 
bolt  the  door  behind  you.' 

"It  was  an  excellent  hint;  but  instead  of  retreating, 
the  girl  continued  to  advance,  followed  by  her  long- 
faced  brother  in  his  knickerbocker  suit,  in  which  he  had 
been  singing  comic  songs  for  the  entertainment  of  a 
joyless  proletariat.  She  advanced  not  as  if  she  had 
failed  to  understand — the  word  'police'  has  an  un- 
mistakable sound — but  rather  as  if  she  could  not  help 
herself.  She  did  not  advance  with  the  free  gait  and 
expanding  presence  of  a  distinguished  amateur  an- 
archist amongst  poor,  struggling  professionals,  but 
with  slightly  raised  shoulders,  and  her  elbows  pressed 
close  to  her  body,  as  if  trying  to  shrink  within  herself. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  immovably  upon  Sevrin.  Sevrin 
the  man,  I  fancy;  not  Sevrin  the  anarchist.  But  she 
advanced.    And    that    was    natural.    For    all    their 


THE  INFORMER  US 

assumption  of  independence,  girls  of  that  class  are 
used  to  the  feeling  of  being  specially  protected,  as,  in 
fact,  they  are.  This  feeling  accounts  for  nine  tenths  of 
their  audacious  gestures.  Her  face  had  gone  com- 
pletely colourless.  Ghastly !  Fancy  having  it  brought 
home  to  her  so  brutally  that  she  was  the  sort  of  person 
who  must  run  away  from  the  police!  I  believe  she  was 
pale  with  indignation,  mostly,  though  there  was,  of 
course,  also  the  concern  for  her  intact  personality,  a 
vague  dread  of  some  sort  of  rudeness.  And,  naturally, 
she  turned  to  a  man,  to  the  man  on  whom  she  had  a 
claim  of  fascination  and  homage — the  man  who  could 
not  conceivably  fail  her  at  any  juncture." 

"But,"  I  cried,  amazed  at  this  analysis,  "if  it  had 
been  serious,  real,  I  mean — as  she  thought  it  was — what 
could  she  expect  him  to  do  for  her.f*" 

X.  never  moved  a  muscle  of  his  face. 

"Goodness  knows.  I  imagine  that  this  charming, 
generous,  and  independent  creature  had  never  known  in 
her  life  a  single  genuine  thought;  I  mean  a  single 
thought  detached  from  small  human  vanities,  or  whose 
source  was  not  in  some  conventional  perception.  All  I 
know  is  that  after  advancing  a  few  steps  she  extended 
her  hand  toward  the  motionless  Sevrin.  And  that  at 
least  was  no  gesture.  It  was  a  natural  movement.  As 
to  what  she  expected  him  to  do,  who  can  tell?  The 
impossible.  But  whatever  she  expected,  it  could  not 
have  come  up,  I  am  safe  to  say,  to  what  he  had  made 


114  A  SET  OF  SIX 

up  his  mind  to  do,  even  before  that  entreating  hand 
had  appealed  to  him  so  directly.  It  had  not  been  neces- 
sary. From  the  moment  he  had  seen  her  enter  that 
cellar,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  sacrifice  his  future 
usefulness,  to  throw  off  the  impenetrable,  solidly  fast- 
ened mask  it  had  been  his  pride  to  wear " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  interrupted,  puzzled. 
"Was  it  Sevrin,  then,  who  was " 

"He  was.  The  most  persistent,  the  most  dangerous, 
the  craftiest,  the  most  systematic  of  informers.  A  gen- 
ius amongst  betrayers.  Fortunately  for  us,  he  was 
unique.  The  man  was  a  fanatic,  I  have  told  you. 
Fortunately,  again,  for  us,  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
the  accomplished  and  innocent  gestures  of  that  girl. 
An  actor  in  desperate  earnest  himself,  he  must  have 
believed  in  the  absolute  value  of  conventional  signs. 
As  to  the  grossness  of  the  trap  into  which  he  fell,  the 
explanation  must  be  that  two  sentiments  of  such  ab- 
sorbing magnitude  cannot  exist  simultaneously  in  one 
heart.  The  danger  of  that  other  and  unconscious 
comedian  robbed  him  of  his  vision,  of  his  perspicacity, 
of  his  judgment.  Indeed,  it  did  at  first  rob  him  of  his 
self-possession.  But  he  regained  that  through  the 
necessity — as  it  appeared  to  him  imperiously — to  do 
something  at  once.  To  do  what?  Why,  to  get  her 
out  of  the  house  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  was  des- 
perately anxious  to  do  that.  I  have  told  you  he  was 
terrified.     It   could   not   be   about  himself.     He   had 


THE  INFORMER  115 

been  surprised  and  annoyed  at  a  move  quite  unforeseen 
and  premature.  I  may  even  say  he  had  been  furious. 
He  was  accustomed  to  arrange  the  last  scene  of  his 
betrayals  with  a  deep,  subtle  art  which  left  his  revolu- 
tionist reputation  untouched.  But  it  seems  clear  to 
me  that  at  the  same  time  he  had  resolved  to  make  the 
best  of  it,  to  keep  his  mask  resolutely  on.  It  was  only 
with  the  discovery  of  her  being  in  the  house  that  every- 
thing— the  forced  calm,  the  restraint  of  his  fanaticism, 
the  mask — all  came  off  together  in  a  kind  of  panic. 
Why  panic,  do  you  ask?  The  answer  is  very  simple. 
He  remembered — or,  I  daresay,  he  had  never  forgotten — 
the  Professor  alone  at  the  top  of  the  house,  pursuing  his 
researches,  surrounded  by  tins  upon  tins  of  Stone's 
Dried  Soup.  There  was  enough  in  some  few  of  them 
to  bury  us  all  where  we  stood  under  a  heap  of  bricks. 
Sevrin,  of  course,  was  aware  of  that.  And  we  must 
believe,  also,  that  he  knew  the  exact  character  of  the 
man,  apparently.  He  had  gauged  so  many  such  char- 
acters! Or  perhaps  he  only  gave  the  Professor  credit 
for  what  he  himself  was  capable  of.  But,  in  any  case, 
the  effect  was  produced.  And  suddenly  he  raised  his 
voice  in  authority. 

*"Get  the  lady  away  at  once.' 

"It  turned  out  that  he  was  as  hoarse  as  a  crow; 
result,  no  doubt,  of  the  intense  emotion.  It  passed  off 
in  a  moment.  But  these  fateful  words  issued  forth  from 
his  contracted  throat  in  a  discordant,  ridiculous  croak. 


116  A  SET  OF  SIX 

They  required  no  answer.  The  thing  was  done.  How- 
ever, the  man  personating  the  inspector  judged  it  ex- 
pedient to  say  roughly: 

"'She  shall  go  soon  enough,  together  with  the  rest  of 
you.' 

"These  were  the  last  words  belonging  to  the  comedy 
part  of  this  affair. 

"Oblivious  of  everything  and  everybody,  Sevrin 
strode  toward  him  and  seized  the  lapels  of  his  coat. 
Under  his  thin  bluish  cheeks  one  could  see  his  jaws 
working  with  passion. 

" '  You  have  men  posted  outside.  Get  the  lady  taken 
home  at  once.  Do  you  hear.'^  Now.  Before  you  try 
to  get  hold  of  the  man  upstairs.' 

"*0h!  There  is  a  man  upstairs,'  scoffed  the  other, 
openly.  'Well,  he  shall  be  brought  down  in  time  to  see 
the  end  of  this.' 

"But  Sevrin,  beside  himself,  took  no  heed  of  the 
tone. 

"*  Who's  the  imbecile  meddler  who  sent  you  blunder- 
ing here.'*  Didn't  you  understand  your  instructions.'' 
Don't  you  know  anything.'*     It's  incredible !     Here ' 

"He  dropped  the  lapels  of  the  coat  and,  plunging 
his  hand  into  his  breast,  jerked  feverishly  at  some- 
thing under  his  shirt.  At  last  he  produced  a  small 
square  pocket  of  soft  leather,  which  must  have  been 
hanging  like  a  scapulary  from  his  neck  by  the  tape, 
whose  broken  ends  dangled  from  his  fist. 


THE  INFORMER  117 

"'Look  inside,'  he  spluttered,  flinging  it  in  the  other's 
face.  And  instantly  he  turned  round  toward  the  girl. 
She  stood  just  behind  him,  perfectly  still  and  silent. 
Her  set,  white  face  gave  an  illusion  of  placidity.  Only 
her  staring  eyes  seemed  bigger  and  darker. 

"He  spoke  rapidly,  with  nervous  assurance.  I  heard 
him  distinctly  promise  her  to  make  everything  as  clear 
as  daylight  presently.  But  that  was  all  I  caught.  He 
stood  close  to  her,  never  attempting  to  touch  her  even 
with  the  tip  of  his  little  finger — and  she  stared  at  him 
stupidly.  For  a  moment,  however,  her  eyelids  de- 
scended slowly,  pathetically,  and  then,  with  the  long 
black  eyelashes  lying  on  her  white  cheeks,  she  looked 
as  if  she  were  about  to  fall  down  in  a  swoon.  But  she 
never  even  swayed  where  she  stood.  He  urged  her 
loudly  to  follow  him  at  once,  and  walked  toward  the 
door  at  the  bottom  of  the  cellar  stairs  without  looking 
behind  him.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  move 
after  him  a  pace  or  two.  But,  of  course,  he  was  not 
allowed  to  reach  the  door.  There  were  angry  exclama- 
tions, the  tumult  of  a  short,  fierce  scuflSe.  Flung  away 
violently,  he  came  flying  backward  upon  her,  and  fell. 
She  threw  out  her  arms  in  a  gesture  of  dismay  and 
stepped  aside,  just  clear  of  his  head,  which  struck  the 
ground  heavily  near  her  shoe. 

"He  grunted  with  the  shock.  By  the  time  he  had 
picked  himself  up,  slowly,  dazedly,  he  was  awake  to  the 
reality  of  things.    The  man  into  whose  hands  he  had 


118  A  SET  OF  SIX 

thrust  the  leather  case  had  extracted  therefrom  a  nar- 
row strip  of  bluish  paper.  He  held  it  up  above  his  head, 
and,  as  after  the  scuffle  an  expectant  uneasy  stillness 
reigned  once  more,  he  threw  it  down  disdainfully  with 
the  words, '  I  think,  comrades,  that  this  proof  was  hardly 
necessary.' 

"Quick  as  thought,  the  girl  stooped  after  the  flutter- 
ing slip.  Holding  it  spread  out  in  both  hands,  she 
looked  at  it;  then,  without  raising  her  eyes,  opened  her 
fingers  slowly  and  let  it  fall. 

"I  examined  that  curious  document  afterward.  It 
was  signed  by  a  very  high  personage,  and  stamped  and 
countersigned  by  other  high  officials  in  various  coun- 
tries of  Europe.  In  his  trade — or  shall  I  say,  in  his 
mission? — that  sort  of  talisman  might  have  been  neces- 
sary, no  doubt.  Even  to  the  police  itself — all  but  the 
heads — he  had  been  known  only  as  Sevrin  the  noted 
anarchist. 

"He  hung  his  head,  biting  his  lower  lip.  A  change 
had  come  over  him,  a  sort  of  thoughtful,  absorbed  calm- 
ness. Nevertheless,  he  panted.  His  sides  worked 
visibly,  and  his  nostrils  expanded  and  collapsed  in  weird 
contrast  with  his  sombre  aspect  of  a  fanatical  monk  in  a 
meditative  attitude,  but  with  something,  too,  in  his  face 
of  an  actor  intent  upon  the  terrible  exigencies  of  his 
part.  Before  him  Home  declaimed,  haggard  and 
bearded,  like  an  inspired  denunciatory  prophet  from  a 
wilderness.     Two  fanatics.     They  were  made  to  under- 


THE  INFORMER  119 

stand  each  other.  Does  this  surprise  you?  I  suppose 
you  think  that  such  people  would  be  foaming  at  the 
mouth  and  snarling  at  each  other?" 

I  protested  hastily  that  I  was  not  surprised  in  the 
least;  that  I  thought  nothing  of  the  kind;  that  anarchists 
in  general  were  simply  inconceivable  to  me  mentally, 
morally,  logically,  sentimentally,  and  even  physically. 
X.  received  this  declaration  with  his  usual  woodenness 
and  went  on. 

"Home  had  burst  out  into  eloquence.  While  pour- 
ing out  scornful  invective,  he  let  tears  escape  from  his 
eyes  and  roll  down  his  black  beard  unheeded.  Sevrin 
panted  quicker  and  quicker.  When  he  opened  his  mouth 
to  speak,  every  one  hung  on  his  words. 

"'Don't  be  a  fool.  Home,'  he  began.  *You  know 
very  well  that  I  have  done  this  for  none  of  the  reasons 
you  are  throwing  at  me.'  And  in  a  moment  he  became 
outwardly  as  steady  as  a  rock  under  the  other's  lurid 
stare.  *I  have  been  thwarting,  deceiving,  and  betray- 
ing you — from  conviction.' 

"He  turned  his  back  on  Home,  and  addressing  the 
girl,  repeated  the  words:  'From  conviction.' 

"It's  extraordinary  how  cold  she  looked.  I  suppose 
she  could  not  think  of  an  appropriate  gesture.  There 
can  have  been  few  precedents  indeed  for  such  a  situa- 
tion. 

"'Clear  as  dayhght,'  he  added.  'Do  you  understand 
what  that  means?     From  conviction.' 


120  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"And  still  she  did  not  stir.  She  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  But  the  luckless  wretch  was  about  to  give 
her  the  opportunity  for  a  beautiful  and  correct  gesture. 

*"I  have  felt  in  me  the  power  to  make  you  share 
this  conviction,'  he  protested,  ardently.  He  had  for- 
gotten himself;  he  made  a  step  toward  her — perhaps 
he  stumbled.  To  me  he  seemed  to  be  stooping  low  as 
if  to  touch  the  hem  of  her  garment.  And  then  the 
appropriate  gesture  came.  She  snatched  her  skirt 
away  from  his  polluting  contact  and  averted  her  head 
with  an  upward  tilt.  It  was  magnificently  done,  this 
gesture  of  conventionally  unstained  honour,  of  an  un- 
blemished, high-minded  amateur. 

"Nothing  could  have  been  better.  And  he  seemed 
to  think  so,  too,  for  once  more  he  turned  away.  But 
this  time  he  faced  no  one.  He  was  again  panting 
frightfully,  while  he  fumbled  hurriedly  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  and  then  raised  his  hand  to  his  lips.  There 
was  something  furtive  in  this  movement,  but  directly 
afterward  his  bearing  changed.  His  laboured  breath- 
ing gave  him  a  resemblance  to  a  man  who  had  just  run 
a  desperate  race;  but  a  curious  air  of  detachment,  of 
sudden  and  profound  indifference,  replaced  the  strain 
of  the  striving  effort.  The  race  was  over.  I  did  not 
want  to  see  what  would  happen  next.  I  was  only  too 
well  aware.  I  tucked  the  young  lady's  arm  under 
mine  without  a  word,  and  made  my  way  with  her  to 
the  stairs. 


THE  INFORMER  121 

"Her  brother  walked  behind  us.  Halfway  up  the 
short  flight  she  seemed  unable  to  lift  her  feet  high 
enough  for  the  steps,  and  we  had  to  pull  and  push  to  get 
her  to  the  top.  In  the  passage  she  dragged  herself 
along,  hanging  on  my  arm,  helplessly  bent  like  an  im- 
potent old  woman.  We  issued  into  an  empty  street 
through  a  half-open  door,  staggering  like  besotted 
revellers.  At  the  corner  we  stopped  a  four-wheeler, 
and  the  ancient  driver  looked  round  from  his  box 
with  morose  scorn  at  our  efforts  to  get  her  in.  Twice 
during  the  drive  I  felt  her  collapse  on  my  shoulder  in 
a  half  faint.  Facing  us,  the  youth  in  knickerbockers 
remained  as  mute  as  a  fish,  and,  till  he  jumped  out  with 
the  latch-key,  sat  more  still  than  I  would  have  behaved 
it  possible. 

"At  the  door  of  their  drawing-room  she  left  my  arm 
and  walked  in  first,  catching  at  the  chairs  and  tables. 
She  unpinned  her  hat;  then,  exhausted  with  the  effort, 
her  cloak  still  hanging  from  her  shoulders,  flung  her- 
self into  a  deep  armchair,  sidew^ays,  her  face  half 
buried  in  a  cushion.  The  good  brother  appeared  si- 
lently before  her  with  a  glass  of  water.  She  motioned 
it  away.  He  drank  it  himself  and  walked  off  to  a 
distant  corner — behind  the  grand  piano,  somewhere. 
AU  was  still  in  this  room  where  I  had  seen,  for  the  first 
time,  Sevrin,  the  anti-anarchist,  captivated  and  spell- 
bound by  the  consummate  and  hereditary  grimaces 
that  in  a  certain  sphere  of  life  take  the  place  of  feelings 


122  A  SET  OF  SIX 

with  an  excellent  effect.  I  suppose  her  thoughts  were 
busy  with  the  same  memory.  Her  shoulders  shook 
violently.  A  pure  attack  of  nerves.  When  it  quieted 
down  she  affected  firmness,  'What  is  done  to  a  man  of 
that  sort.''     What  will  they  do  to  him?' 

" '  Nothing.  They  can  do  nothing  to  him,'  I  assured 
her,  with  perfect  truth.  I  was  pretty  certain  he  had 
died  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  from  the  moment  his 
hand  had  gone  to  his  lips.  For  if  his  fanatical  anti- 
anarchism  went  even  as  far  as  carrying  poison  in  his 
pocket,  only  to  rob  his  adversaries  of  legitimate  ven- 
geance, I  knew  he  would  take  care  to  provide  something 
that  would  not  fail  him  when  required. 

"She  drew  an  angry  breath.  There  were  red  spots 
on  her  cheeks  and  a  feverish  brilliance  in  her  eyes. 

'"Has  ever  any  one  been  exposed  to  such  a  terrible 
experience?  To  think  that  he  had  held  my  hand! 
That  man!'  Her  face  twitched,  she  gulped  down  a 
pathetic  sob.  'If  I  ever  felt  sure  of  anything,  it  was 
of  Sevrin's  high-minded  motives.' 

"Then  she  began  to  weep  quietly,  which  was  good 
for  her.  Then  through  her  flood  of  tears,  half  resentful, 
'What  was  it  he  said  to  me.^* — "From  conviction!"  It 
seemed  a  vile  mockery.     What  could  he  mean  by  it?' 

"'That,  my  dear  young  lady,'  I  said  gently,  'is  more 
than  I  or  anybody  else  can  ever  explain  to  you.'" 

Mr.  X.  flicked  a  crumb  off  the  front  of  his  coat. 

"And  that  was   strictly   true  as  to  her.     Though 


THE  INFORMER  12S 

Home,  for  instance,  understood  very  well;  and  so  did  I, 
especially  after  we  had  been  to  Sevrin's  lodging  in  a 
dismal  back  street  of  an  intensely  respectable  quarter. 
Home  was  known  there  as  a  friend,  and  we  had  no 
difficulty  in  being  admitted,  the  slatternly  maid  merely 
remarking,  as  she  let  us  in,  that  'Mr.  Sevrin  had  not 
been  home  that  night.'  We  forced  open  a  couple  of 
drawers  in  the  way  of  duty,  and  found  a  little  useful 
information.  The  most  interesting  part  was  his  diary; 
for  this  man,  engaged  in  such  deadly  work,  had  the 
weakness  to  keep  a  record  of  the  most  damnatory  kind. 
There  were  his  acts  and  also  his  thoughts  laid  bare  to 
us.  But  the  dead  don't  mind  that.  They  don't  mind 
anything. 

"'From  conviction.'  Yes.  A  vague  but  ardent 
humanitarianism  had  urged  him  in  his  first  youth  into 
the  bitterest  extremity  of  negation  and  revolt.  After- 
ward his  optimism  flinched.  He  doubted  and  became 
lost.  You  have  heard  of  converted  atheists.  These  turn 
often  into  dangerous  fanatics,  but  the  soul  remains  the 
same.  After  he  had  got  acquainted  with  the  girl,  there 
are  to  be  met  in  that  diary  of  his  very  queer  politico- 
amorous  rhapsodies.  He  took  her  sovereign  grimaces 
with  deadly  seriousness.  He  longed  to  convert  her. 
But  all  this  cannot  interest  you.  For  the  rest,  I  don't 
know  if  you  remember — it  is  a  good  many  years  ago 
now — the  journalistic  sensation  of  the  'Hermione  Street 
Mystery';  the  finding  of  a  man's  body  in  the  cellar  of 


124  A  SET  OF  SIX 

an  empty  house;  the  inquest;  some  arrests;  many  sur- 
mises— then  silence — the  usual  end  for  many  obscure 
martyrs  and  confessors.  The  fact  is,  he  was  not  enough 
of  an  optimist.  You  must  be  a  savage,  tyrannical, 
pitiless,  thick-and-thin  optimist,  like  Home,  for  in- 
stance, to  make  a  good  social  rebel  of  the  extreme 
type." 

He  rose  from  the  table.  A  waiter  hurried  up  with 
his  overcoat;  another  held  his  hat  in  readiness. 

"But  what  became  of  the  young  lady?"  I  asked. 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know.f^"  he  said,  buttoning 
himself  in  his  fur  coat  carefully.  "I  confess  to  the 
small  malice  of  sending  her  Sevrin's  diary.  She  went 
into  retirement;  then  she  went  to  Florence;  and  then 
she  went  into  retreat  in  a  convent.  I  can't  tell  you 
where  she  will  go  next.  What  does  it  matter?  Ges- 
tures!    Gestures!     Mere  gestures  of  her  class." 

He  fitted  on  his  glossy  high  hat  with  extreme  pre- 
cision, and  casting  a  rapid  glance  round  the  room,  full 
of  well-dressed  people,  innocently  dining,  muttered  be- 
tween his  teeth: 

"And  nothing  else!  That  is  why  their  kind  is  fated 
to  perish." 

I  never  met  Mr.  X.  again  after  that  evening.  I  took 
to  dining  at  my  club.  On  my  next  visit  to  Paris  I 
found  my  friend  all  impatience  to  hear  of  the  effect 
produced  on  me  by  this  rare  item  of  his  collection.     I 


THE  INFORMER  125 

told  him  all  the  story,  and  he  beamed  on  me  with  the 
pride  of  his  distinguished  specimen. 

"Isn't  X.  well  worth  knowing?"  he  bubbled  over 
in  great  delight.  "He's  unique,  amazing,  absolutely 
terrific." 

His  enthusiasm  grated  upon  my  finer  feelings.  I 
told  him  curtly  that  the  man's  cynicism  was  simply 
abominable. 

"Oh,  abominable!  abominable!"  assented  my  friend 
effusively.  "And  then,  you  know,  he  likes  to  have  his 
little  joke  sometimes,"  he  added  in  a  confidential  tone. 

I  fail  to  understand  the  connection  of  this  last  re- 
mark. I  have  been  utterly  unable  to  discover  where  in 
all  this  the  joke  comes  in. 


AN  INDIGNANT  TALE 


THE  BRUTE 

DODGING  in  from  the  rain-swept  street,  I  ex- 
changed a  smile  and  a  glance  with  Miss  Blank 
in  the  bar  of  the  Tliree  Crows.  This  exchange 
was  effected  with  extreme  propriety.  It  is  a  shock  to 
think  that,  if  still  alive.  Miss  Blank  must  be  something 
over  sixty  now.     How  time  passes ! 

Noticing  my  gaze  directed  inquiringly  at  the  parti- 
tion of  glass  and  varnished  wood,  Miss  Blank  was  good 
enough  to  say,  encouragingly: 

"Only  Mr.  Jermyn  and  Mr.  Stonor  in  the  parlour, 
with  another  gentleman  I've  never  seen  before.'* 

I  moved  toward  the  parlour  door.  A  voice  dis- 
coursing on  the  other  side  (it  was  but  a  matchboard 
partition)  rose  so  loudly  that  the  concluding  words 
became  quite  plain  in  all  their  atrocity. 

"That  fellow  Wilmot  fairly  dashed  her  brains  out, 
and  a  good  job,  too!" 

This  inhuman  sentiment,  since  there  was  nothing 
profane  or  improper  in  it,  failed  to  do  as  much  as  to 
check  the  slight  yawn  Miss  Blank  was  achieving  behind 
her  hand.  And  she  remained  gazing  fixedly  at  the 
window-panes,  which  streamed  with  rain. 

129 


130  A  SET  OF  SIX 

As  I  opened  the  parlour  door  the  same  voice  went  on 
in  the  same  cruel  strain: 

"I  was  glad  when  I  heard  she  got  the  knock  from 
somebody  at  last.  Sorry  enough  for  poor  Wilmot, 
though.  That  man  and  I  used  to  be  chums  at  one  time. 
Of  course  that  was  the  end  of  him.  A  clear  case  if  there 
ever  was  one.     No  way  out  of  it.     None  at  all." 

The  voice  belonged  to  the  gentleman  Miss  Blank  had 
never  seen  before.  He  straddled  his  long  legs  on  the 
Iiearthrug.  Jermyn,  leaning  forward,  held  his  pocket- 
1  andkerchief  spread  out  before  the  grate.  He  looked 
back  dismally  over  his  shoulder,  and  as  I  slipped  behind 
one  of  the  little  wooden  tables,  I  nodded  to  him.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  fire,  imposingly  calm  and  large, 
sat  Mr.  Stonor,  jammed  tight  into  a  capacious  Windsor 
armchair.  There  was  nothing  small  about  him  but 
his  short,  white  side-whiskers.  Yards  and  yards  of 
extra  superfine  blue  cloth  (made  up  into  an  overcoat) 
reposed  on  a  chair  by  his  side.  And  he  must  just  have 
brought  some  liner  from  sea,  because  another  chair  was 
smothered  under  his  black  waterproof,  ample  as  a 
pall,  and  made  of  threefold  oiled  silk,  double-stitched 
throughout.  A  man's  hand-bag  of  the  usual  size  looked 
like  a  child's  toy  on  the  floor  near  his  feet. 

I  did  not  nod  to  him.  He  was  too  big  to  be  nodded 
to  in  that  parlour.  He  was  a  senior  Trinity  pilot  and 
condescended  to  take  his  turn  in  the  cutter  only  during 
the  summer  months.     He  had  been  many  times  in 


THE  BRUTE  131 

charge  of  royal  yachts  in  and  out  of  Port  Victoria. 
Besides,  it's  no  use  nodding  to  a  monument.  And  he 
was  Hke  one.  He  didn't  speak,  he  didn't  budge.  He 
just  sat  there,  holding  his  handsome  old  head  up,  im- 
movable, and  almost  bigger  than  life.  It  was  extremely 
fine.  ]Mr.  Stonor's  presence  reduced  poor  old  Jermyn 
to  a  mere  shabby  wisp  of  a  man,  and  made  the  talk- 
ative stranger  in  tweeds  on  the  hearthrug  look  absurdly 
boj^ish.  This  last  must  have  been  a  few  years  over 
thirty,  and  was  certainly  not  the  sort  of  individual  that 
gets  abashed  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  because 
gathering  me  in,  as  it  were,  by  a  friendly  glance,  he  kept 
it  going  without  a  check. 

"I  was  glad  of  it,"  he  repeated  emphatically.  "You 
may  be  surprised  at  it,  but  then  you  haven't  gone 
through  the  experience  I've  had  of  her.  I  can  tell  you, 
it  was  something  to  remember.  Of  course  I  got  off 
scot  free  myself — as  you  can  see.  She  did  her  best  to 
break  up  my  pluck  for  me  though.  She  jolly  near 
drove  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  lived  into  a  madhouse. 
What  do  you  say  to  that — eh.?" 

Not  an  eyelid  twitched  in  IVIr.  Stonor's  enormous  face. 
Monumental!  The  speaker  looked  straight  into  my 
eyes. 

"It  used  to  make  me  sick  to  think  of  her  going  about 
the  world  murdering  people." 

Jermyn  approached  the  handkerchief  a  little  nearer 
to  the  grate  and  groaned.   It  was  simply  a  habit  he  had. 


132  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"I've  seen  her  once,"  he  declared,  with  mournful  ia- 
difference.     "  She  had  a  house " 

The  stranger  in  tweeds  ttuned  to  stare  down  at  him 
surprised. 

"She  had  three  houses,"  he  corrected  authoritatively. 
But  Jermyn  was  not  to  be  contradicted. 

"She  had  a  house,  I  say,"  he  repeated,  with  dismal 
obstinacy.  "A  great,  big,  ugly,  white  thing.  You 
could  see  it  from  miles  away — sticking  up." 

"So  you  could,"  assented  the  other  readily.  "It 
was  old  Colchester's  notion,  though  he  was  always 
threatening  to  give  her  up.  He  couldn't  stand  her 
racket  any  more,  he  declared ;  it  was  too  much  of  a  good 
thing  for  him;  he  would  wash  his  hands  of  her,  if  he 
never  got  hold  of  another — and  so  on.  I  daresay  he 
would  have  chucked  her,  only — it  may  surprise  you — 
his  missus  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  Funny,  eh?  But 
with  women,  you  never  know  how  they  will  take  a  thing, 
and  Mrs.  Colchester,  with  her  moustaches  and  big  eye- 
brows, set  up  for  being  as  strong-minded  as  they  make 
them.  She  used  to  walk  about  in  a  brown  silk  dress, 
with  a  great  gold  cable  flopping  about  her  bosom.  You 
should  have  heard  her  snapping  out:  'Rubbish!'  or 
'Stuff  and  nonsense!'  I  daresay  she  knew  when  she 
was  well  off.  They  had  no  children,  and  had  never  set 
up  a  home  anywhere.  WTien  in  England  she  just  made 
shift  to  hang  out  anyhow  in  some  cheap  hotel  or  board- 
ing-house.    I  daresay  she  liked  to  get  back  to  the  com- 


THE  BRUTE  ISS 

forts  she  was  used  to.  She  knew  very  well  she  couldn't 
gain  by  any  change.  And,  moreover,  Colchester,  though 
a  first-rate  man,  was  not  what  you  may  call  in  his  first 
youth,  and,  perhaps,  she  may  have  thought  that  he 
wouldn't  be  able  to  get  hold  of  another  (as  he  used  to 
say)  so  easily.  Anyhow,  for  one  reason  or  another,  it 
was  'Rubbish'  and  'Stuff  and  nonsense'  for  the  good 
lady.  I  overheard  once  young  Mr.  Apse  himself  say  to 
her  confidentially :  '  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Colchester,  I  am 
beginning  to  feel  quite  unhappy  about  the  name  she's 
getting  for  herself.'  *0h,'  says  she,  with  her  deep  little 
hoarse  laugh,  'if  one  took  notice  of  all  the  silly  talk,* 
and  she  showed  Apse  all  her  ugly  false  teeth  at  once. 
'It  would  take  more  than  that  to  make  me  lose  my 
confidence  in  her,  I  assure  you,'  says  she." 

At  this  point,  without  any  change  of  facial  expression, 
IMr.  Stonor  emitted  a  short  sardonic  laugh.  It  was 
very  impressive,  but  I  didn't  see  the  fun.  I  looked 
from  one  to  another.  The  stranger  on  the  hearthrug 
had  an  ugly  smile. 

"And  jNIr.  Apse  shook  both  Mrs.  Colchester's  hands, 
he  was  so  pleased  to  hear  a  good  word  said  for  their 
favourite.  All  these  Apses,  young  and  old,  you  know, 
were  perfectly  infatuated  with  that  abominable,  dan- 
gerous  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  interrupted,  exasperated,  for 
he  seemed  to  be  addressing  himself  exclusively  to  me, 
"but  who  on  earth  have  you  been  talking  about?" 


134  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"I  am  talking  of  the  Apse  family,"  he  answered, 
courteously. 

I  nearly  let  out  a  damn  at  this.  But  just  then  the 
respected  Miss  Blank  put  her  head  in,  and  said  that  the 
cab  was  at  the  door,  if  Mr.  Stonor  wanted  to  catch  the 
eleven-three  up. 

At  once  the  senior  pilot  arose  in  his  mighty  bulk  and 
began  to  struggle  into  his  coat,  with  awe-inspiring  up- 
heavals. The  stranger  and  I  hurried  impulsively  to  his 
assistance,  and  directly  we  laid  our  hands  on  him  he 
became  perfectly  quiescent.  We  had  to  raise  our  arms 
very  high,  and  to  make  efforts.  It  was  like  caparison- 
ing a  docile  elephant.  With  a  "Thanks,  gentlemen," 
he  dived  under  and  squeezed  himself  through  the  door 
in  a  great  hurry. 

We  smiled  at  each  other  in  a  friendly  way. 

"I  wonder  how  he  manages  to  hoist  himself  up  a 
ship's  side-ladder,"  said  the  man  in  tweeds;  and  poor 
Jermyn,  who  was  a  mere  North  Sea  pilot,  without 
official  status  or  recognition  of  any  sort,  pilot  only  by 
courtesy,  groaned. 

"He  makes  eight  hundred  a  year." 

"Are  you  a  sailor .f*"  I  asked  the  stranger,  who  had 
gone  back  to  his  position  on  the  rug. 

"I  used  to  be  till  a  couple  of  years  ago,  when  I  got 
married,"  answered  this  communicative  individual.  "I 
even  went  to  sea  first  in  that  very  ship  we  were  speak- 
ing of  when  you  came  in." 


THE  BRUTE  135 

"What  ship?"  I  asked,  puzzled.  "I  never  heard  you 
mention  a  ship." 

"I've  just  told  you  her  name,  my  dear  sir,"  he 
replied.  "The  A-pse  Family.  Surely  you've  heard  of 
the  great  firm  of  Apse  &  Sons,  shipowners.  They  had  a 
pretty  big  fleet.  There  was  the  Lucy  Apse,  and  the 
Harold  Apse,  and  Anne,  John,  Malcolm,  Clara,  Juliet, 
and  so  on — no  end  of  Apses.  Every  brother,  sister, 
aunt,  cousin,  wife — and  grandmother,  too,  for  all  I 
know — of  the  firm  had  a  ship  named  after  them.  Good, 
solid,  old-fashioned  craft  they  were,  too,  built  to  carry 
and  to  last.  None  of  your  new-fangled,  labour-saving 
appliances  in  them,  but  plenty  of  men  and  plenty  of 
good  salt  beef  and  hard  tack  put  aboard — and  off  you 
go  to  fight  your  way  out  and  home  again." 

The  miserable  Jermyn  made  a  sound  of  approval, 
which  sounded  like  a  groan  of  pain.  Those  were  the 
ships  for  him.  He  pointed  out  in  doleful  tones  that 
you  couldn't  say  to  labour-saving  appliances:  "Jump 
Hvely  now,  my  hearties."  No  labour-saving  appliance 
would  go  aloft  on  a  dirty  night  with  the  sands  under 
your  lee. 

"No,"  asserted  the  stranger,  with  a  wink  at  me. 
"The  Apses  didn't  believe  in  them,  either,  apparently. 
They  treated  their  people  well — as  people  don't  get 
treated  nowadays — and  they  were  awfully  proud  of  their 
ships.  Nothing  ever  happened  to  them.  This  last 
one,  the  Apse  Family,  was  to  be  like  the  others,  only 


136  A  SET  OF  SIX 

she  was  to  be  still  stronger,  still  safer,  still  more  roomy 
and  comfortable.  I  believe  they  meant  her  to  last  for- 
ever. They  had  her  built  composite — iron,  teak-wood, 
and  greenheart,  and  her  scantling  was  something 
fabulous.  If  ever  an  order  was  given  for  a  ship  in  a 
spirit  of  pride  this  one  was.  Everything  of  the  best. 
The  commodore  captain  of  the  employ  was  to  con;- 
mand  her,  and  they  planned  the  accommodation  for 
him  like  a  house  on  shore  under  a  big,  tall  poop  that 
went  nearly  to  the  mainmast.  No  wonder  Mrs.  Col- 
chester wouldn't  let  the  old  man  give  her  up.  Wliy,  it 
was  the  best  home  she  ever  had  in  all  her  married  days. 
She  had  a  nerve,  that  woman. 

"The  fuss  that  was  made  while  that  ship  was  build- 
ing! Let's  have  this  a  Httle  stronger,  and  that  a  little 
heavier;  and  hadn't  that  other  thing  better  be  changed 
for  something  a  little  thicker.  The  builders  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  game,  and  there  she  was,  growing 
into  the  clumsiest,  heaviest  ship  of  her  size  right  before 
all  their  eyes,  without  anybody  getting  aware  of  it 
somehow.  She  was  to  be  2,000  tons  register,  or  a  little 
over;  no  less  on  any  account.  But  see  what  happens. 
When  they  come  to  measure  her  she  turned  out  1,999 
tons  and  a  fraction.  General  consternation!  And  they 
say  old  Mr.  Apse  was  so  annoyed,  when  they  told  him, 
that  he  took  to  his  bed  and  died.  The  old  gentleman 
had  retired  from  the  firm  twenty-five  years  before,  and 
was  ninety-six  years  old  if  a  day,  so  his  death  wasn't,  per- 


THE  BRUTE  137 

haps,  so  surprising.  Still  Mr.  Lucian  Apse  was  con- 
vinced that  his  father  would  have  lived  to  a  hundred. 
So  we  may  put  him  at  the  head  of  the  list.  Next 
comes  the  poor  devil  of  a  shipwright  that  brute  caught 
and  squashed  as  she  went  off  the  ways.  They  called 
it  the  launch  of  a  ship,  but  I've  heard  people  say  that, 
from  the  wailing  and  yelling  and  scrambling  out  of  the 
way,  it  was  more  like  letting  the  devil  loose  upon  the 
river.  She  snapped  all  her  checks  like  pack-thread,  and 
went  for  the  tugs  in  attendance  like  a  fury.  Before 
anybody  could  see  what  she  was  up  to  she  sent  one  of 
them  to  the  bottom,  and  laid  up  another  for  three 
months'  repairs.  One  of  her  cables  parted,  and  then, 
suddenly — you  couldn't  tell  why — she  let  herself  be 
brought  up  with  the  other  as  quiet  as  a  lamb. 

"That's  how  she  was.  You  could  never  be  sure 
what  she  would  be  up  to  next.  There  are  ships  difficult 
to  handle,  but  generally  you  can  depend  on  them  be- 
having rationally.  With  that  ship,  whatever  you  did 
with  her  you  never  knew  how  it  would  end.  She  was  a 
wicked  beast.     Or,  perhaps,  she  was  only  just  insane." 

He  uttered  this  supposition  in  so  earnest  a  tone  that 
I  could  not  refrain  from  smiling.  He  left  off  biting  his 
lower  lip  to  apostrophize  me. 

"Eh!  Why  not.''  Why  couldn't  there  be  something 
in  her  build,  in  the  lines  corresponding  to — what's 
madness?  Only  something  just  a  tiny  bit  wrong  in  the 
make  of  vour  brain.     Whv  shouldn't  there  be  a  mad 


138  A  SET  OF  SIX 

ship — I  mean  mad  in  a  ship-like  way,  so  that  under  no 
circumstances  could  you  be  sure  she  would  do  what  any 
other  sensible  ship  would  naturally  do  for  you.  There 
are  ships  that  steer  wildly,  and  ships  that  can't  be  quite 
trusted  always  to  stay;  others  want  careful  watching 
when  running  in  a  gale;  and  again,  there  may  be  a 
ship  that  will  make  heavy  weather  of  it  in  every  httle 
blow.  But  then  you  expect  her  to  be  always  so. 
You  take  it  as  part  of  her  character,  as  a  ship,  just 
as  you  take  account  of  a  man's  peculiarities  of  temper 
when  you  deal  with  him.  But  with  her  you  couldn't. 
She  was  unaccountable.  If  she  wasn't  mad,  then  she 
was  the  most  evil-minded,  underhand,  savage  brute 
that  ever  went  afloat.  I've  seen  her  run  in  a  heavy 
gale  beautifully  for  two  days,  and  on  the  third  broach 
to  twice  in  the  same  afternoon.  The  first  time  she 
flung  the  helmsman  clean  over  the  wheel,  but  as  she 
didn't  quite  manage  to  kill  him  she  had  another  try 
about  three  hours  afterward.  She  swamped  herself 
fore  and  aft,  burst  all  the  canvas  we  had  set,  scared  all 
hands  into  a  panic,  and  even  frightened  Mrs.  Col- 
chester down  there  in  these  beautiful  stern  cabins  that 
she  was  so  proud  of.  When  we  mustered  the  crew 
there  was  one  man  missing.  Swept  overboard,  of 
course,  without  being  either  seen  or  heard,  poor  devil! 
and  I  only  wonder  more  of  us  didn't  go. 

"Always  something  like  that.     Always.     I  heard  an 
old  mate  tell  Captain  Colchester  once  that  it  had  come 


THE  BRUTE  139 

to  this  with  him,  that  he  was  afraid  to  open  his  mouth 
to  give  any  sort  of  order.  She  was  as  much  of  a  terror 
in  harbour  as  at  sea.  You  could  never  be  certain  what 
would  hold  her.  On  the  slightest  provocation  she 
would  start  snapping  ropes,  cables,  wire  hawsers,  like 
carrots.  She  was  heavy,  clumsy,  unhandy — but  that 
does  not  quite  explain  that  power  for  mischief  she  had. 
You  know,  somehow,  when  I  think  of  her  I  can't  help 
remembering  what  we  hear  of  incurable  lunatics  break- 
ing loose  now  and  then." 

He  looked  at  me  inquisitively.  But,  of  course,  I 
couldn't  admit  that  a  ship  could  be  mad. 

"In  the  ports  where  she  was  known,"  he  went  on, 
"they  dreaded  the  sight  of  her.  She  thought  nothing 
of  knocking  away  twenty  feet  or  so  of  solid  stone  facing 
ofif  a  quay  or  wiping  off  the  end  of  a  wooden  wharf.  She 
must  have  lost  miles  of  chain  and  hundreds  of  tons  of 
anchors  in  her  time.  "WTien  she  fell  aboard  some  poor 
unoffending  ship  it  was  the  very  devil  of  a  job  to  haul 
her  off  again.  And  she  never  got  hurt  herself — just  a 
few  scratches  or  so,  perhaps.  They  had  wanted  to 
have  her  strong.  And  so  she  was.  Strong  enough  to 
ram  Polar  ice  with.  And  as  she  began  so  she  went  on. 
From  the  day  she  was  launched  she  never  let  a  year  pass 
without  murdering  somebody.  I  think  the  owners  got 
very  worried  about  it.  But  they  were  a  stiff-necked 
generation,  all  these  Apses;  they  wouldn't  admit  there 
could  be  anything  wrong  with  the  Apse  Family.    They 


140  A  SET  OF  SIX 

wouldn't  even  change  her  name.  'Stuff  and  non- 
sense,' as  Mrs.  Colchester  used  to  say.  They  ought 
at  least  to  have  shut  her  up  for  life  in  some  dry  dock  or 
other,  away  up  the  river,  and  never  let  her  smell  salt 
water  again.  I  assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  that  she  in- 
variably did  kill  some  one  every  voyage  she  made.  It 
was  perfectly  well  known.  She  got  a  name  for  it,  far 
and  wide." 

I  expressed  my  surprise  that  a  ship  with  such  a 
deadly  reputation  could  ever  get  a  crew. 

"Then,  you  don't  know  what  sailors  are,  my  dear  sir. 
Let  me  just  show  you  by  an  instance.  One  day  in  dock 
at  home,  while  loafing  on  the  forecastle  head,  I  noticed 
two  respectable  salts  come  along,  one  a  middle-aged, 
competent,  steady  man,  evidently,  the  other  a  smart, 
youngish  chap.  They  read  the  name  on  the  bows  and 
stopped  to  look  at  her.  Says  the  elder  man:  'Apse 
Faviily.  That's  the  sanguinary  female  dog'  (I'm 
putting  it  in  that  way)  'of  a  ship.  Jack,  that  kills  a  man 
every  voyage.  I  wouldn't  sign  in  her — not  for  Joe,  I 
wouldn't.'  And  the  other  says:  'If  she  were  mine,  I'd 
have  her  towed  on  the  mud  and  set  on  fire,  blamme  if  I 
wouldn't.'  Then  the  first  man  chimes  in:  'Much  do 
they  care!  Men  are  cheap,  God  knows.'  The  younger 
one  spat  in  the  water  alongside.  'They  won't  have  me 
— not  for  double  wages.' 

"They  hung  about  for  some  time  and  then  walked  up 
the  dock.     HaK  an  hour  later  I  saw  them  both  on  our 


THE  BRUTE  141 

deck  looking  for  the  mate,  and  apparently  very  anxious 
to  be  taken  on.     And  they  were." 

"How  do  you  account  for  this.^"  I  asked. 

""NATiat  would  you  say.^"  he  retorted.  "Reckless- 
ness! The  vanity  of  boasting  in  the  evening  to  all  their 
chums:  'We've  just  shipped  in  that  there  Apse  Family. 
Blow  her.  She  ain't  going  to  scare  us.'  Sheer  sailor- 
like perversity !  A  sort  of  curiosity.  Well — a  little  of  all 
that,  no  doubt.  I  put  the  question  to  them  in  the  course 
of  the  voyage.     The  answer  of  the  elderly  chap  was: 

"'A  man  can  die  but  once.'  The  younger  assured 
me  in  a  mocking  tone  that  he  wanted  to  see  *how  she 
would  do  it  this  time.'  But  I  tell  you  what:  there  was 
a  sort  of  fascination  about  the  brute." 

Jermyn,  who  seemed  to  have  seen  every  ship  in  the 
world,  broke  in  sulkily: 

"I  saw  her  once  out  of  this  very  window  towing  up 
the  river;  a  great  black  ugly  thing,  going  along  like  a 
big  hearse." 

"Something  sinister  about  her  looks,  wasn't  there.''" 
said  the  man  in  tweeds,  looking  down  at  old  Jermyn 
with  a  friendly  eye.  "I  always  had  a  sort  of  horror  of 
her.  She  gave  me  a  beastly  shock  when  I  was  no  more 
than  fourteen,  the  very  first  day — nay,  hour — I  joined 
her.  Father  came  up  to  see  me  off,  and  was  to  go  down 
to  Gravesend  with  us.  I  was  his  second  boy  to  go  to 
sea.  My  big  brother  was  already  an  officer  then.  We 
got  on  board  about  eleven  in  the  morning,  and  found 


142  A  SET  OF  SIX 

the  ship  ready  to  drop  out  of  the  basm,  stern  first.  She 
had  not  moved  three  times  her  own  length  when,  at 
a  little  pluck  the  tug  gave  her  to  enter  the  dock  gates, 
she  made  one  of  her  rampaging  starts,  and  put  such 
a  weight  on  the  check  rope — a  new  six-inch  hawser 
— that  forward  there  they  had  no  chance  to  ease  it 
round  in  time,  and  it  parted.  I  saw  the  broken  end 
fly  up  high  in  the  air,  and  the  next  moment  that  brute 
brought  her  quarter  against  the  pier-head  with  a  jar 
that  staggered  everybody  about  her  decks.  She  didn't 
hurt  herself.  Not  she!  But  one  of  the  boys  the  mate 
liad  sent  aloft  on  the  mizzen  to  do  something  came 
down  on  the  poop-deck — thump — right  in  front  of  me. 
He  was  not  much  older  than  myself.  We  had  been 
grinning  at  each  other  only  a  few  minutes  before.  He 
must  have  been  handling  himself  carelessly,  not  expect- 
ing to  get  such  a  jerk.  I  heard  his  startled  cry — Oh! — 
in  a  high  treble  as  he  felt  himself  going,  and  looked  up 
in  time  to  see  him  go  limp  all  over  as  he  fell.  Ough! 
Poor  father  was  remarkably  white  about  the  gills  when 
we  shook  hands  in  Gravesend.  *Are  you  all  right?'  he 
says,  looking  hard  at  me.  'Yes,  father.'  'Quite  sure.''* 
'  Yes,  father.'  '  Well,  then,  good-bye,  my  boy.'  He  told 
me  afterward  that  for  half  a  word  he  would  have  car- 
ried me  off  home  with  him  there  and  then.  I  am  the 
baby  of  the  family — you  know,"  added  the  man  in 
tweeds,  stroking  his  moustache  with  an  ingenuous 
smile. 


THE  BRUTE  143 

I  acknowledged  this  interesting  communication 
by  a  sympathetic  murmur.  He  waved  his  hand  care- 
lessly. 

"This  might  have  utterly  spoiled  a  chap's  nerve  for 
going  aloft,  you  know — utterly.  He  fell  within  two  feet 
of  me,  cracking  his  head  on  a  mooring-bitt.  Never 
moved.  Stone  dead.  Nice-looking  little  fellow  he  was. 
I  had  just  been  thinking  we  would  be  great  chums. 
However,  that  wasn't  yet  the  worst  that  brute  of  a  ship 
could  do.  I  served  in  her  three  years  of  my  time,  and 
then  I  got  transferred  to  the  Lucy  Apse  for  a  year.  The 
sailmaker  we  had  in  the  A]}se  Family  turned  up  there, 
too,  and  I  remember  him  saying  to  me  one  evening, 
after  we  had  been  a  week  at  sea:  'Isn't  she  a  meek  little 
ship.?'  No  wonder  we  thought  the  Luq/  Apse  a  dear, 
meek,  little  ship  after  getting  clear  of  that  big,  rampag- 
ing, savage  brute.  It  was  like  heaven.  Her  officers 
seemed  to  me  the  restfullest  lot  of  men  on  earth.  To 
me  who  had  knowTi  no  ship  but  the  Apse  Family,  the 
Lucy  was  like  a  sort  of  magic  craft  that  did  what  you 
wanted  her  to  do  of  her  own  accord.  One  evening  we 
got  caught  aback  pretty  sharply  from  right  ahead.  In 
about  ten  minutes  we  had  her  full  again,  sheets  aft, 
tacks  down,  decks  cleared,  and  the  officer  of  the  watch 
leaning  against  the  weather  rail  peacefully.  It  seemed 
simply  marvellous  to  me.  The  other  would  have  stuck 
for  half  an  hour  in  irons,  rolling  her  decks  full  of  water, 
knocking  the  men  about — spars  cracking,  braces  snap- 


144  A  SET  OF  SIX 

ping,  yards  taking  charge,  and  a  confounded  scare 
going  on  aft  because  of  her  beastly  rudder,  which  she 
had  a  way  of  flapping  about  fit  to  raise  your  hair  on 
end.     I  couldn't  get  over  my  wonder  for  days. 

"Well,  I  finished  my  last  year  of  apprenticeship  in 
that  jolly  little  ship — she  wasn't  so  little,  either,  but 
after  that  other  heavy  devil  she  seemed  but  a  plaything 
to  handle.  I  finished  my  time  and  passed;  and  then, 
just  as  I  was  thinking  of  having  three  weeks  of  real 
good  time  on  shore,  I  got  at  breakfast  a  letter  asking  me 
the  earliest  day  I  could  be  ready  to  join  the  Apse  Family 
as  third  mate.  I  gave  my  plate  a  shove  that  shot  it 
into  the  middle  of  the  table;  dad  looked  up  over  his 
paper;  mother  raised  her  hands  in  astonishment,  and 
I  went  out  bareheaded  into  our  bit  of  garden,  where  I 
walked  round  and  round  for  an  hour. 

"  When  I  came  in  again  mother  was  out  of  the  dining- 
room,  and  dad  had  shifted  berth  into  his  big  armchair. 
The  letter  was  lying  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"Tt's  very  creditable  to  you  to  get  the  offer,  and 
very  kind  of  them  to  make  it,'  he  said.  'And  I  see  also 
that  Charles  has  been  appointed  chief  mate  of  that 
ship  for  one  voyage.' 

"There  was  over  leaf  a  PS.  to  that  effect  in  Mr. 
Apse's  own  handwriting,  which  I  had  overlooked. 
Charley  was  my  big  brother. 

"'I  don't  like  very  much  to  have  two  of  my  boys 
together  in  one  ship,'  father  goes  on,  in  his  dehberate, 


THE  BRUTE  145 

solemn  way.     'And  I  may  tell  you  that  I  would  not 
mind  writing  ]Mr.  Apse  a  letter  to  that  effect.' 

"Dear  old  dad!  He  was  a  wonderful  father.  What 
would  you  have  done?  The  mere  notion  of  going 
back  (and  as  an  officer,  too),  to  be  worried  and  bothered, 
and  kept  on  the  jump  night  and  day  by  that  brute, 
made  me  feel  sick.  But  she  wasn't  a  ship  you  could 
afford  to  fight  shy  of.  Besides,  the  most  genuine  ex- 
cuse could  not  be  given  without  mortally  offending 
Apse  &  Sons.  The  firm,  and  I  beheve  the  whole  family 
down  to  the  old  unmarried  aunts  in  Lancashire,  had 
grown  desperately  touchy  about  that  accursed  ship's 
character.  This  was  the  case  for  answering  'Ready 
now'  from  your  very  death-bed  if  you  wished  to  die 
in  their  good  graces.  And  that's  precisely  what  I  did 
answer — by  wire,  to  have  it  over  and  done  with  at  once. 

"The  prospect  of  being  shipmates  with  my  big 
brother  cheered  me  up  considerably,  though  it  made 
me  a  bit  anxious,  too.  Ever  since  I  remember  myself 
as  a  little  chap  he  had  been  very  good  to  me,  and  I 
looked  upon  him  as  the  finest  fellow  in  the  world.  And 
so  he  was.  No  better  officer  ever  walked  the  deck  of  a 
merchant  ship.  And  that's  a  fact.  He  was  a  fine,  strong, 
upstanding,  sun-tanned  young  fellow,  with  his  brown 
hair  curling  a  little,  and  an  eye  like  a  hawk.  He  was 
just  splendid.  We  hadn't  seen  each  other  for  many 
years,  and  even  this  time,  though  he  had  been  in  Eng- 
land three  weeks  already,  he  hadn't  showed  up  at  home 


146  A  SET  OF  SIX 

yet,  but  had  spent  his  spare  time  in  Surrey  somewhere, 
making  up  to  Maggie  Colchester,  old  Captain  Colchester's 
niece.  Her  father,  a  great  friend  of  dad's,  was  in  the 
sugar-broking  business,  and  Charley  made  a  sort  of 
second  home  of  their  house.  I  wondered  what  my  big 
brother  would  think  of  me.  There  was  a  sort  of  stern- 
ness about  Charley's  face  which  never  left  it,  not  even 
when  he  was  larking  in  his  rather  wild  fashion. 

"He  received  me  with  a  great  shout  of  laughter. 
He  seemed  to  think  my  joining  as  an  officer  the  greatest 
joke  in  the  world.  There  was  a  difference  of  ten  years 
between  us,  and  I  suppose  he  remembered  me  best  in 
pinafores.  I  was  a  kid  of  four  when  he  first  went  to 
sea.  It  surprised  me  to  find  how  boisterous  he  could 
be. 

*"Now  we  shall  see  what  you  are  made  of,'  he  cried. 
And  he  held  me  off  by  the  shoulders,  and  punched  my 
ribs,  and  hustled  me  into  his  berth.  'Sit  down,  Ned.  I 
am  glad  of  the  chance  of  having  you  with  me.  I'll  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  you,  my  young  officer,  providing 
you're  worth  the  trouble.  And,  first  of  all,  get  it  well 
into  your  head  that  we  are  not  going  to  let  this  brute 
kill  anybody  this  voyage.     We'll  stop  her  racket.' 

"I  perceived  he  was  in  dead  earnest  about  it.  He 
talked  grimly  of  the  ship,  and  how  we  must  be  careful 
and  never  allow  this  ugly  beast  to  catch  us  napping  with 
any  of  her  damned  tricks. 

"He  gave  me  a  regular  lecture  on  special  seamanship 


THE  BRUTE  147 

for  the  use  of  the  Apse  Family;  then,  changing  his  tone, 
he  began  to  talk  at  large,  rattling  off  the  wildest,  funni- 
est nonsense,  till  my  sides  ached  with  laughing.  I  could 
see  very  well  he  was  a  bit  above  himself  with  high 
spirits.  It  couldn't  be  because  of  my  coming.  Not  to 
that  extent.  But,  of  course,  I  wouldn't  have  dreamt  of 
asking  what  was  the  matter.  I  had  a  proper  respect 
for  my  big  brother,  I  can  tell  you.  But  it  was  all  made 
plain  enough  a  day  or  two  afterward,  when  I  heard 
that  Miss  Maggie  Colchester  was  coming  for  the  voy- 
age. Uncle  was  giving  her  a  sea-trip  for  the  benefit 
of  her  health. 

"I  don't  know  what  could  have  been  wrong  with  her 
health.  She  had  a  beautiful  colour,  and  a  deuce  of  a 
lot  of  fair  hair.  She  didn't  care  a  rap  for  wind,  or  rain, 
or  spray,  or  sun,  or  green  seas,  or  anything.  She  was  a 
blue-eyed,  jolly  girl  of  the  very  best  sort,  but  the  way 
she  cheeked  my  big  brother  used  to  frighten  me.  I 
always  expected  it  to  end  in  an  awful  row.  However, 
nothing  decisive  happened  till  after  we  had  been  in 
Sydney  for  a  week.  One  day,  in  the  men's  dinner 
hour,  Charley  sticks  his  head  into  my  cabin.  I  was 
stretched  out  on  my  back  on  the  settee,  smoking  in 
peace. 

"  'Come  ashore  with  me,  Ned,'  he  says,  in  his  curt  way. 

"I  jumped  up,  of  course,  and  away  after  him  down 
the  gangway  and  up  George  Street.  He  strode  along 
like  a  giant,  and  I  at  his  elbow,  panting.     It  was  con- 


148  A  SET  OF  SIX 

foiindedly  hot.  'Wliere  on  earth  are  you  rushing  me 
to,  Charley?'  I  made  bold  to  ask. 

"'Here/  he  says. 

"'Here'  was  a  jeweller's  shop.  I  couldn't  imagine 
what  he  could  want  there.  It  seemed  a  sort  of  mad 
freak.  He  thrust  under  my  nose  three  rings,  which 
looked  very  tiny  on  his  big,  brown  palm,  growling  out — 

'"For  Maggie!     Which.?' 

"I  got  a  kind  of  scare  at  this.  I  couldn't  make  a 
sound,  but  I  pointed  at  the  one  that  sparkled  white  and 
blue.  He  put  it  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  paid  for  it  with 
a  lot  of  sovereigns,  and  bolted  out.  When  we  got  on 
board  I  was  quite  out  of  breath.  'Shake  hands,  old 
chap,'  I  gasped  out.  He  gave  me  a  thump  on  the  back. 
'Give  what  orders  you  lil^e  to  the  boatswain  when 
the  hands  turn-to,'  says  he;  'I  am  off  duty  this  after- 
noon.' 

"Then  he  vanished  from  the  deck  for  a  while,  but 
presently  he  came  out  of  the  cabin  with  Maggie,  and 
these  two  went  over  the  gangway  publicly,  before  all 
hands,  going  for  a  walk  together  on  that  awful,  blazing, 
hot  day,  with  clouds  of  dust  flying  about.  They  came 
back  after  a  few  hours  looking  very  staid,  but  didn't 
seem  to  have  the  slightest  idea  where  they  had  been. 
Anyway,  that's  the  answer  they  both  made  to  Mrs. 
Colchester's  question  at  tea-time. 

"And  didn't  she  turn  on  Charley,  with  her  voice 
like  an  old  night  r-nbman's.     'Evibb''r.h.     Don't  know 


THE  BRUTE  149 

where  you've  been!  Stuff  and  nonsense.  You've 
walked  the  girl  off  her  legs.     Don't  do  it  again.' 

"It's  surprising  how  meek  Charley  could  be  with 
that  old  woman.  Only  on  one  occasion  he  whispered 
to  me,  '  I'm  jolly  glad  she  isn't  Maggie's  aunt,  except  by 
marriage.  That's  no  sort  of  relationship.'  But  I 
think  he  let  Maggie  have  too  much  of  her  own  way. 
She  was  hopping  all  over  that  ship  in  her  yachting  sldrt 
and  a  red  tam  o'  shanter  like  a  bright  bird  on  a  dead 
black  tree.  The  old  salts  used  to  grin  to  themselves 
when  they  saw  her  coming  along,  and  offered  to  teach 
her  knots  or  splices.  I  believe  she  liked  the  men,  for 
Charley's  sake,  I  suppose. 

"As  you  may  imagine,  the  diabolic  propensities  of 
that  cursed  ship  were  never  spoken  of  on  board.  Not 
in  the  cabin,  at  any  rate.  Only  once  on  the  homeward 
passage  Charley  said,  incautiously,  something  about 
bringing  all  her  crew  home  this  time.  Captain  Col- 
chester began  to  look  uncomfortable  at  once,  and  that 
silly,  hard-bitten  old  woman  flew  out  at  Charley  as 
though  he  had  said  something  indecent.  I  was  quite 
confounded  myseff;  as  to  Maggie,  she  sat  completely 
mystified,  opening  her  blue  eyes  very  wide.  Of  course, 
before  she  was  a  day  older  she  wormed  it  all  out  of  me. 
She  was  a  very  difficult  person  to  lie  to. 

"*How  awful,'  she  said,  quite  solemn.  'So  many 
poor  fellows.  I  am  glad  the  voyage  is  nearly  over.  I 
won't  have  a  moment's  peace  about  Charley  now.' 


150  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"I  assured  her  Charley  was  all  right.  It  took  more 
than  that  ship  knew  to  get  over  a  seaman  like  Charley. 
And  she  agreed  with  me. 

"Next  day  we  got  the  tug  off  Dungeness;  and  when  the 
tow-rope  was  fast  Charley  rubbed  his  hands  and  said 
to  me  in  an  undertone: 

"* We've  baffled  her,  Neddy.' 

"'Looks  like  it,'  I  said,  with  a  grin  at  him.  It  was 
beautiful  weather,  and  the  sea  as  smooth  as  a  millpond. 
We  went  up  the  river  without  a  shadow  of  trouble 
except  once,  when  off  Hole  Haven,  the  brute  took  a 
sudden  sheer  and  nearly  had  a  barge  anchored  just 
clear  of  the  fairway.  But  I  was  aft,  looking  after  the 
steering,  and  she  did  not  catch  me  napping  that  time. 
Charley  came  up  on  the  poop,  looking  very  concerned. 
'Close  shav^e.'  says  he. 

"'Nevtr  mind,  Charley,'  I  answered,  cheerily. 
'You've  tamed  her.' 

*'We  were  to  tow  right  up  to  the  dock.  The  river 
pilot  boarded  us  below  Gravesend,  and  the  first  words 
I  heard  him  say  were :  '  You  may  just  as  well  take  your 
port  anchor  inboard  at  once,  Mr.  Mate.' 

"This  had  been  done  when  I  went  forward.  I  saw 
Maggie  on  the  forecastle  head  enjoying  the  bustle, 
and  I  begged  her  to  go  aft,  but  she  took  no  notice  of  me, 
of  course.  Then  Charley,  who  was  very  busy  with  the 
head  gear,  caught  sight  of  her  and  shouted  in  his  big- 
gest voice:  'Get  off  the  forecastle  head,  Maggie.  You're 


THE  BRUTE  151 

in  the  way  here.'  For  all  answer  she  made  a  funny 
face  at  him,  and  I  saw  poor  Charley  turn  away,  hiding 
a  smile.  She  was  flushed  with  the  excitement  of 
getting  home  again,  and  her  blue  eyes  seemed  to  snap 
electric  sparks  as  she  looked  at  the  river.  A  collier 
brig  had  gone  round  just  ahead  of  us,  and  our  tug  had 
to  stop  her  engines  in  a  hurry  to  avoid  running  slap 
bang  into  her. 

*'  In  a  moment,  as  is  usually  the  case,  all  the  shipping 
in  the  reach  seemed  to  get  into  a  hopeless  tangle.  A 
schooner  and  a  ketch  got  up  a  small  collision  all  to 
themselves  right  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  It  was 
exciting  to  watch,  and,  meantime,  our  tug  remained 
stopped.  Any  other  ship  than  that  brute  could  have 
been  coaxed  to  keep  straight  for  a  couple  of  minutes — 
but  not  she!  Her  head  fell  off  at  once,  and  she  began 
to  drift  down,  taking  her  tug  along  with  her.  I  noticed 
a  cluster  of  coasters  at  anchor  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  us,  and  I  thought  I  had  better  speak  to  the 
pUot.  *If  you  let  her  get  amongst  that  lot,'  I  said, 
quietly,  'she  will  grind  some  of  them  to  bits  before  we 
get  her  out  again.' 

"'Don't  I  know  her!'  cries  he,  stamping  his  foot 
in  a  perfect  fury.  And  he  out  with  his  whistle  to 
make  that  bothered  tug  get  the  ship's  head  up  again 
as  quick  as  possible.  He  blew  hke  mad,  waving  his 
arm  to  port,  and  presently  we  could  see  that  the  tug's 
engines    had    been    set    going    ahead.     Her    paddles 


152  A  SET  OF  SIX 

churned  the  water,  but  it  was  as  if  she  had  been  trying 
to  tow  a  rock — she  couldn't  get  an  inch  out  of  that  ship. 
Again  the  pilot  blew  his  whistle,  and  waved  his  arm  to 
port.  We  could  see  the  tug's  paddles  turning  faster  and 
faster  away,  broad  on  our  bow. 

"For  a  moment  tug  and  ship  hung  motionless  in  a 
crowd  of  moving  shipping,  and  then  the  terrific  strain 
that  evil,  stony-hearted  brute  would  always  put  on 
everything  tore  the  towing-chock  clean  out.  The 
tow-rope  surged  over,  snapping  the  iron  stanchions  of 
the  head-rail  one  after  another  as  if  they  had  been 
sticks  of  sealing-wax.  It  was  only  then  I  noticed  that 
in  order  to  have  a  better  view  over  our  heads  Maggie 
had  stepped  upon  the  port  anchor  as  it  lay  flat  on  the 
forecastle  deck. 

"It  had  been  lowered  properly  into  its  hardwood 
beds,  but  there  had  been  no  time  to  take  a  turn  with 
it.  Anyway,  it  was  quite  secure  as  it  was,  for  going 
into  dock;  but  I  could  see  directly  that  the  tow-rope 
would  sweep  under  the  fluke  in  another  second.  My 
heart  flew  right  into  my  throat,  but  not  before  I  had 
time  to  yell  out:  'Jump  clear  of  that  anchor!' 

"But  I  hadn't  time  to  shriek  out  her  name.  I  don't 
suppose  she  heard  me  at  all.  The  first  touch  of  the 
hawser  against  the  fluke  threw  her  down;  she  was  up 
on  her  feet  again  quick  as  lightning,  but  she  was  up  on 
the  wrong  side.  I  heard  a  horrid,  scraping  sound,  and 
then  that  anchor,  tipping  over,  rose  up  like  something 


THE  BRUTE  153 

alive;  its  great,  rough  iron  arm  caught  Maggie  round 
the  waist,  seemed  to  clasp  her  close  with  a  dreadful 
hug,  and  flung  itself  with  her  over  and  down  in  a 
terrific  clang  of  iron,  followed  by  heavy  ringing  blows 
that  shook  the  ship  from  stem  to  stern — because  the 
ring  stopper  held!" 

"How  horrible!"  I  exclaimed. 

"I  used  to  dream  for  years  afterward  of  anchors 
catching  hold  of  girls,"  said  the  man  in  tweeds,  a  little 
wildly.  He  shuddered.  "With  a  most  pitiful  howl 
Charley  was  over  after  her  almost  on  the  instant.  But, 
Lord!  he  didn't  see  as  much  as  a  gleam  of  her  red  tarn 
o'  shanter  in  the  water.  Nothing!  nothing  whatever! 
In  a  moment  there  were  half  a  dozen  boats  around  us, 
and  he  got  pulled  into  one.  I,  with  the  boatswain  and 
the  carpenter,  let  go  the  other  anchor  in  a  hurry  and 
brought  the  ship  up  somehow.  The  pilot  had  gone 
silly.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  forecastle  head 
wringing  his  hands  and  nmttering  to  himself:  'Killing 
women,  now!  Killing  women,  now!'  Not  another 
word  could  you  get  out  of  him. 

"Dusk  fell,  then  a  night  black  as  pitch;  and  peering 
upon  the  river  I  heard  a  low,  moiu-nful  hail,  'Ship, 
ahoy!'  Two  Gravesend  watermen  came  alongside. 
They  had  a  lantern  in  their  wherry,  and  looked  up  the 
ship's  side,  holding  on  to  the  ladder  without  a  word.  I 
saw  in  the  patch  of  light  a  lot  of  loose  fair  hair  down 
there." 


154  A  SET  OF  SIX 

He  shuddered  again. 

"After  the  tide  turned  poor  Maggie's  body  had 
floated  clear  of  one  of  them  big  mooring  buoys,'*  he 
explained.  "I  crept  aft,  feeling  half  dead,  and  managed 
to  send  a  rocket  up — to  let  the  other  searchers  know 
on  the  river.  And  then  I  slunk  away  forward  like 
a  cur,  and  spent  the  night  sitting  on  the  heel  of  the 
bowsprit  so  as  to  be  as  far  as  possible  out  of  Charley's 
way." 

"Poor  fellow!"  I  murmured. 

"Yes.  Poor  fellow,"  he  repeated  musingly.  "That 
brute  wouldn't  let  him — not  even  him — cheat  her  of 
her  prey.  But  he  made  her  fast  in  dock  next  morning. 
He  did.  We  hadn't  exchanged  a  word — not  a  single 
look  for  that  matter.  I  didn't  want  to  look  at  him. 
When  the  last  rope  was  fast  he  put  his  hands  to  his 
head  and  stood  gazing  down  at  his  feet  as  if  trying  to 
remember  something.  The  men  waited  on  the  main 
deck  for  the  words  that  end  the  voyage.  Perhaps  that 
is  what  he  was  trying  to  remember.  I  spoke  for  him. 
'That'll  do,  men.' 

"I  never  saw  a  crew  leave  a  ship  so  quietly.  They 
sneaked  over  the  rail  one  after  another,  taking  care 
not  to  bang  their  sea  chests  too  heavily.  They  looked 
our  way,  but  not  one  had  the  stomach  to  come  up  and 
offer  to  shake  hands  with  the  mate,  as  is  usual. 

"I  followed  him  all  over  the  empty  ship  to  and  fro, 
here  and  there,  with  no  Uving  soul  about  but  the  two  of 


THE  BRUTE  156 

us,  because  the  old  ship-keeper  had  locked  himself  up 
in  the  galley — both  doors.  Suddenly  poor  Charley 
mutters,  in  a  crazy  voice:  'I'm  done  here,'  and  strides 
down  the  gangway  with  me  at  his  heels,  up  the  dock, 
out  at  the  gate,  on  toward  Tower  Hill.  He  used  to 
take  rooms  with  a  decent  old  landlady  in  America 
Square,  to  be  near  his  work. 

"All  at  once  he  stops  short,  turns  round,  and  comes 
back  straight  at  me.  'Ned,'  says  he,  *I  am  going 
home.'  I  had  the  good  luck  to  sight  a  four-wheeler 
and  got  him  in  just  in  time.  His  legs  were  beginning 
to  give  way.  In  our  hall  he  fell  dowm  on  a  chair,  and 
I'll  never  forget  father's  and  mother's  amazed,  per- 
fectly still  faces  as  they  stood  over  him.  They  couldn't 
understand  what  had  happened  to  him  till  I  blubbered 
out  'Maggie  got  drowned,  yesterday,  in  the  river.' 

"Mother  let  out  a  little  cry.  Father  looks  from  him 
to  me,  and  from  me  to  him,  as  if  comparing  our  faces — 
for,  upon  my  soul,  Charley  did  not  resemble  himself  at 
all.  Nobody  moved;  and  the  poor  fellow  raises  his  big 
brown  hands  slowly  to  his  throat,  and  with  one  single 
tug  rips  everything  open — collar,  shirt,  waistcoat,  into 
rags — a  perfect  wreck  and  ruin  of  a  man.  Father  and  I 
got  him  upstairs  somehow,  and  mother  pretty  nearly 
killed  herself  nursing  him  through  a  brain  fever." 

The  man  in  tweeds  nodded  at  me  significantly. 

"Ah!  there  was  nothing  that  could  be  done  with  that 
l>rute.    She  had  a  devil  in  her." 


156  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"Where's  your  brother?"  I  asked,  expecting  to 
hear  he  was  dead.  But  he  was  commanding  a  smart 
steamer  on  the  China  coast,  and  never  came  home  now. 

Jermyn  fetched  a  heavy  sigh,  and  the  handkerchief 
being  now  sufficiently  dry,  put  it  up  tenderly  to  his  red 
and  lamentable  nose. 

*'She  was  a  ravening  beast,"  the  man  in  tweeds 
started  again.  "Old  Colchester  put  his  foot  down  and 
resigned.  And  would  you  believe  it?  Apse  &  Sons 
wrote  to  ask  whether  he  wouldn't  reconsider  his  deci- 
sion! Anything  to  save  the  good  name  of  the  Apse 
Family !  Old  Colchester  went  to  the  office  then  and 
said  that  he  would  take  charge  again  but  only  to  sail 
her  out  into  the  North  Sea  and  scuttle  her  there.  He 
was  nearly  off  his  chump.  He  used  to  be  darkish  iron- 
gray,  but  his  hair  went  snow-white  in  a  fortnight.  And 
Mr.  Lucian  Apse  (they  had  known  each  other  as  young 
men)  pretended  not  to  notice  it.  Eh?  Here's  in- 
fatuation if  you  like!     Here's  pride  for  you! 

"They  jumped  at  the  first  man  they  could  get  to 
take  her,  for  fear  of  the  scandal  of  the  Apse  Family  not 
being  able  to  find  a  skipper.  He  was  a  festive  soul,  I 
believe,  but  he  stuck  to  her  grim  and  hard.  Wilmot 
was  his  second  mate.  A  harum-scarum  fellow,  and 
pretending  to  a  great  scorn  for  all  the  girls.  The  fact 
is  he  was  really  timid.  But  let  only  one  of  them  do  as 
much  as  lift  her  little  finger  in  encouragement,  and 
there  was  nothing  that  could  hold  the  beggar.     As 


THE  BRUTE  157 

apprentice,  once,  he  deserted  abroad  after  a  petticoat, 
and  would  have  gone  to  the  dogs  then  if  his  skipper 
hadn't  taken  the  trouble  to  find  him  and  lug  him  by  the 
ears  out  of  some  house  of  perdition  or  other. 

"It  was  said  that  one  of  the  firm  had  been  heard 
once  to  express  a  hope  that  this  brute  of  a  ship  would 
get  lost  soon.  I  can  hardly  credit  the  tale,  unless  it 
might  have  been  Mr.  Alfred  Apse,  whom  the  family 
didn't  think  much  of.  They  had  him  in  the  oflSce,  but 
he  was  considered  a  bad  egg  altogether,  always  flying 
off  to  race  meetings  and  coming  home  drunk.  You 
would  have  thought  that  a  ship  so  full  of  deadly  tricks 
would  run  herself  ashore  some  day  out  of  sheer  cussed- 
ness.  But  not  she!  She  was  going  to  last  forever. 
She  had  a  nose  to  keep  off  the  bottom." 

Jermyn  made  a  grunt  of  approval. 

"A  ship  after  a  pilot's  own  heart,  eh?"  jeered  the 
man  in  tweeds.  "Well,  Wilmot  managed  it.  He  was 
the  man  for  it,  but  even  he,  perhaps,  couldn't  have 
done  the  trick  without  that  green-eyed  governess,  or 
nurse,  or  whatever  she  was  to  the  children  of  IVIr.  and 
IMrs.  Pamphilius. 

"Those  people  were  passengers  in  her  from  Port 
Adelaide  to  the  Cape.  ^Yell,  the  ship  went  out  and 
anchored  outside  for  the  day.  The  skipper — hospitable 
soul — had  a  lot  of  guests  from  town  to  a  farewell  lunch — 
as  usual  with  him.  It  was  five  in  the  evening  before 
the  last  shore  boat  left  the  side,  and  the  weather  looked 


158  A  SET  OF  SIX 

ugly  and  dark  in  the  gulf.  There  was  no  reason  for  him 
to  get  under  way.  However,  as  he  had  told  everybody 
he  was  going  that  day,  he  imagined  it  was  proper  to  do 
so  anyhow.  But  as  he  had  no  mind  after  all  these 
festivities  to  tackle  the  straits  in  the  dark,  with  a  scant 
wind,  he  gave  orders  to  keep  the  ship  under  lower 
topsails  and  foresail  as  close  as  she  would  lie,  dodging 
along  the  land  till  the  morning.  Then  he  sought  his 
virtuous  couch.  The  mate  was  on  deck,  having  his 
face  washed  very  clean  with  hard  rain  squalls.  Wilmot 
relieved  him  at  midnight. 

"The  Apse  Family  had,  as  you  observed,  a  house  on 
her  poop     .     .     ." 

"A  big,  ugly  white  thing,  sticking  up,"  Jermyn  mur- 
mured, sadly,  at  the  fire. 

"That's  it:  a  companion  for  the  cabin  stairs  and  a 
sort  of  chart-room  combined.  The  rain  drove  in  gusts 
on  the  sleepy  Wilmot.  The  ship  was  then  surging 
slowly  to  the  southward,  close  hauled,  with  the  coast 
within  three  miles  or  so  to  windward.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  look  out  for  in  that  part  of  the  gulf,  and  Wil- 
mot went  round  to  dodge  the  squalls  under  the  lee  of 
that  chart-room,  whose  door  on  that  side  was  open. 
The  night  was  black,  like  a  barrel  of  coal-tar.  And 
then  he  heard  a  woman's  voice  whispering  to  him. 

"That  confounded  green-eyed  girl  of  the  Pamphilius 
people  had  put  the  kids  to  bed  a  long  time  ago,  of  course, 
but  it  seems  couldn't  get  to  sleep  herself.     She  heard 


THE  BRUTE  159 

eight  bells  struck,  and  the  chief  mate  come  below  to 
turn  in.  She  waited  a  bit,  then  got  into  her  dressing- 
gown  and  stole  across  the  empty  saloon  and  up  the 
stairs  into  the  chart-room.  She  sat  down  on  the  settee 
near  the  open  door  to  cool  herself,  I  daresay. 

"I  suppose  when  she  whispered  to  Wilmot  it  was  as 
if  somebody  had  struck  a  match  in  the  fellow's  brain.  I 
don't  know  how  it  was  they  had  got  so  very  thick. 
I  fancy  he  had  met  her  ashore  a  few  times  before.  I 
couldn't  make  it  out,  because,  when  telling  the  story, 
Wilmot  would  break  off  to  swear  something  awful  at 
every  second  word.  We  had  met  on  the  quay  in  Syd- 
ney, and  he  had  an  apron  of  sacking  up  to  his  chin,  a 
big  whip  in  his  hand.  A  wagon-driver.  Glad  to  do 
anji:hing  not  to  starve.  That's  what  he  had  come 
down  to. 

"However,  there  he  was,  with  his  head  inside  the 
door,  on  the  girl's  shoulder  as  likely  as  not — officer  of 
the  watch!  The  helmsman,  on  giving  his  evidence 
afterward,  said  that  he  shouted  several  times  that  the 
binnacle  lamp  had  gone  out.  It  didn't  matter  to  him, 
because  his  orders  were  to  'sail  her  close.'  *I  thought 
it  funny,'  he  said,  'that  the  ship  should  keep  on  falling 
off  in  squalls,  but  I  luffed  her  up  every  time  as  close 
as  I  was  able.  It  was  so  dark  I  couldn't  see  my  hand 
before  my  face,  and  the  rain  came  in  bucketsful  on  my 
head.' 

"The  truth  was  that  at  every  squall  the  wind  hauled 


160  A  SET  OF  SIX 

aft  a  little,  till  gradually  the  ship  came  to  be  heading 
straight  for  the  coast,  without  a  single  soul  in  her 
being  aware  of  it.  Wilmot  himself  confessed  that  he 
had  not  been  near  the  standard  compass  for  an  hour. 
He  might  well  have  confessed!  The  first  thing  he 
knew  was  the  man  on  the  lookout  shouting  blue  murder 
forward  there. 

"He  tore  his  neck  free,  he  says,  and  yelled  back  at 
him:  'What  do  you  say.''' 

"*I  think  I  hear  breakers  ahead,  sir,'  howled  the  man, 
and  came  rushing  aft  with  the  rest  of  the  watch,  in  the 
*awfullest  blinding  deluge  that  ever  fell  from  the  sky,' 
Wilmot  says.  For  a  second  or  so  he  was  so  scared  and 
bewildered  that  he  could  not  remember  on  which  side  of 
the  gulf  the  ship  was.  He  wasn't  a  good  officer,  but  he 
was  a  seaman  all  the  same.  He  pulled  himself  to- 
gether in  a  second,  and  the  right  orders  sprang  to  his 
lips  without  thinking.  They  were  to  hard  up  with  the 
helm  and  shiver  the  main  and  mizzen-topsails. 

"It  seems  that  the  sails  actually  fluttered.  He 
couldn't  see  them,  but  he  heard  them  rattling  and  bang- 
ing above  his  head.  *No  use!  She  was  too  slow  in 
going  off,'  he  went  on,  his  dirty  face  twitching,  and  the 
damn'd  carter's  whip  shaking  in  his  hand.  '  She  seemed 
to  stick  fast.'  And  then  the  flutter  of  the  canvas  above 
his  head  ceased.  At  this  critical  moment  the  wind 
hauled  aft  again  with  a  gust,  filling  the  sails,  and  send- 
ing the  ship  with  a  great  way  upon  the  rocks  on  her 


THE  BRUTE  161 

lee  bow.  She  had  overreached  herself  in  her  last  little 
game.  Her  time  had  come — the  hour,  the  man,  the 
black  night,  the  treacherous  gust  of  wind — the  right 
woman  to  put  an  end  to  her.  The  brute  deserved 
nothing  better.  Strange  are  the  instruments  of  Provi- 
dence.    There's  a  sort  of  poetical  justice " 

The  man  in  tweeds  looked  hard  at  me. 

"The  first  ledge  she  went  over  stripped  the  false  keel 
off  her.  Rip!  The  skipper,  rushing  out  of  his  berth, 
found  a  crazy  woman,  in  a  red  flannel  dressing-gown, 
flying  round  and  round  the  cuddy,  screeching  like  a 
cockatoo. 

"The  next  bump  knocked  her  clean  under  the  cabin 
table.  It  also  started  the  stern-post  and  carried  away 
the  rudder,  and  then  that  brute  ran  up  a  shelving,  rocky 
shore,  tearing  her  bottom  out,  till  she  stopped  short,  and 
the  foremast  dropped  over  the  bows  like  a  gangway." 

"Anybody  lost.?"  I  asked. 

"No  one,  unless  that  fellow,  Wilmot,"  answered  the 
gentleman,  unknown  to  Miss  Blank,  looking  round  for 
his  cap.  "And  his  case  was  worse  than  drowning  for  a 
man.  Everybody  got  ashore  all  right.  Gale  didn't 
come  on  till  next  day,  dead  from  the  west,  and  broke 
up  that  brute  in  a  surprisingly  short  time.  It  was  as 
though  she  had  been  rotten  at  heart."  .  .  .  He 
changed  his  tone.  "Rain  left  off.  I  must  get  my 
bike  and  rush  home  to  dinner.  I  live  in  Heme  Bay — 
came  out  for  a  spin  this  morning." 


162  A  SET  OF  SIX 

He  nodded  at  me  in  a  friendly  way,  and  went  out 
with  a  swagger. 

"Do  you  know  who  he  is,  Jermyn?"  I  asked. 

The  North  Sea  pilot  shook  his  head  dismally. 
"Fancy  losing  a  ship  in  that  silly  fashion!  Oh,  dear! 
oh,  dear!"  he  groaned  in  lugubrious  tones,  spreading 
his  damp  handkerchief  again  like  a  curtain  before  the 
glowing  grate. 

On  going  out  I  exchanged  a  glance  and  a  smile 
(strictly  proper)  with  the  respectable  Miss  Blank,  bar- 
maid of  the  Three  Crows. 


A  DESPERATE  TALE 


AN  ANARCHIST 

THAT  year  I  spent  the  best  two  months  of  the  dry 
season  on  one  of  the  estates — in  fact  on  the  prin- 
cipal cattle  estate — of  a  famous  meat-extract 
manufacturing  company. 

B.  O.  S.  Bos.  You  have  seen  the  three  magic  let- 
ters on  the  advertisement  pages  of  magazines  and  news- 
papers, in  the  windows  of  provision  merchants,  and  on 
calendars  for  next  year  you  receive  by  post  in  the  month 
of  November.  They  scatter  pamphlets  also,  ■vxTitten  in 
a  sickly  enthusiastic  style  and  in  several  languages, 
giving  statistics  of  slaughter  and  bloodshed  enough 
to  make  a  Turk  turn  faint.  The  "art"  illustrating  that 
"literature"  represents  in  vivid  and  shining  colours  a 
large  and  enraged  black  bull  stamping  upon  a  yellow 
snake  writhing  in  emerald-green  grass,  with  a  cobalt- 
blue  sky  for  a  background.  It  is  atrocious  and  it  is 
an  allegory.  The  snake  symbolizes  disease,  weakness — 
perhaps  mere  hunger,  which  last  is  the  chronic  disease 
of  the  majority  of  mankind.  Of  course  everybody 
knows  the  B.  0.  S.  Ltd.,  with  its  unrivalled  products: 
Vinobos,  Jellybos,  and  the  latest  unequalled  perfection, 
Tribos,  whose  nourishment  is  offered  to  you  not  only 
highly  concentrated,  but  already  half  digested.     Such, 

165 


166  A  SET  OF  SIX 

apparently,  is  the  love  that  Limited  Company  bears  to 
its  fellowmen — even  as  the  love  of  the  father  and 
mother  penguin  for  their  hmigry  fledglings. 

Of  course  the  capital  of  a  country  must  be  pro- 
ductively employed.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  the 
company.  But  being  myself  animated  by  feelings  of 
affection  toward  my  fellowmen,  I  am  saddened  by  the 
modem  system  of  advertising.  Whatever  evidence  it 
offers  of  enterprise,  ingenuity,  impudence,  and  resource 
in  certain  individuals,  it  proves  to  my  mind  the  wide 
prevalence  of  that  form  of  mental  degradation  which  is 
called  gullibility. 

In  various  parts  of  the  civilized  and  uncivihzed  world 
I  have  had  to  swallow  B.  O.  S.  with  more  or  less  benefit 
to  myself,  though  without  great  pleasure.  Prepared 
with  hot  water  and  abundantly  peppered  to  bring  out 
the  taste,  this  extract  is  not  really  unpalatable.  But  I 
have  never  swallowed  its  advertisements.  Perhaps 
they  have  not  gone  far  enough.  As  far  as  I  can  remem- 
ber they  make  no  promise  of  everlasting  youth  to  the 
users  of  B.  O.  S.,  nor  yet  have  they  claimed  the  power  of 
raising  the  dead  for  their  estimable  products.  Why  this 
austere  reserve,  I  wonder !  But  I  don't  think  they  would 
have  had  me  even  on  these  terms.  Whatever  form  of 
mental  degradation  I  may  (being  but  human)  be  suffer- 
ing from,  it  is  not  the  popular  form.    I  am  not  gullible. 

I  have  been  at  some  pains  to  bring  out  distinctly  this 
statement  about  myself  in  view  of  the  story  which  fol- 


AN  ANARCHIST  167 

lows.  I  have  checked  the  facts  as  far  as  possible.  I 
have  turned  up  the  files  of  French  newspapers,  and  I 
have  also  talked  with  the  oflScer  who  commands  the 
mihtary  guard  on  the  He  Royale,  when  in  the  course  of 
my  travels  I  reached  Cayenne.  I  beheve  the  story  to 
be  in  the  main  true.  It  is  the  sort  of  story  that  no  man, 
I  think,  would  ever  invent  about  himself,  for  it  is 
neither  grandiose  nor  flattering,  nor  yet  funny  enough 
to  gratify  a  perverted  vanity. 

It  concerns  the  engineer  of  the  steam-launch  belong- 
ing to  the  Marafion  cattle  estate  of  the  B.  O.  S.  Co., 
Ltd.  This  estate  is  also  an  island — an  island  as  big  as 
a  small  province,  lying  in  the  estuary  of  a  great  South 
American  river.  It  is  wild  and  not  beautiful,  but  the 
grass  growing  on  its  low  plains  seems  to  possess  ex- 
ceptionally nourishing  and  flavouring  qualities.  It  re* 
sounds  with  the  lowing  of  innumerable  herds — a  deep 
and  distressing  sound  under  the  open  sky,  rising  like 
a  monstrous  protest  of  prisoners  condemned  to  death. 
On  the  mainland,  across  twenty  miles  of  discoloured 
muddy  water,  there  stands  a  city  whose  name,  let  us  say, 
is  Horta. 

But  the  most  interesting  characteristic  of  this  island 
(which  seems  like  a  sort  of  penal  settlement  for  con- 
demned cattle)  consists  in  its  being  the  only  known 
habitat  of  an  extremely  rare  and  gorgeous  butterfly. 
The  species  is  even  more  rare  than  it  is  beautiful,  which 
is  not  saying  little.     I  have  already  alluded  to  my 


168  A  SET  OF  SIX 

travels.  I  travelled  at  that  time,  but  strictly  for  myself, 
and  with  a  moderation  unknown  in  our  days  of  round- 
the-world  tickets.  I  even  travelled  with  a  purpose. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am — "Ha,  ha,  ha! — a  desperate 
butterfly-slayer.     Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

This  was  the  tone  in  which  Mr.  Harry  Gee,  the 
manager  of  the  cattle  station,  alluded  to  my  pursuits. 
He  seemed  to  consider  me  the  greatest  absurdity  in  the 
world.  On  the  other  hand,  the  B.  O.  S.  Co.,  Ltd.,  repre- 
sented to  him  the  acme  of  the  nineteenth  century's 
achievement.  I  believe  that  he  slept  in  his  leggings  and 
spurs.  His  days  he  spent  in  the  saddle  flying  over  the 
plains,  followed  by  a  train  of  half-wild  horsemen,  who 
called  him  Don  Enrique,  and  who  had  no  definite  idea 
of  the  B.  O.  S.  Co.,  Ltd.,  which  paid  their  wages.  He  was 
an  excellent  manager,  but  I  don't  see  why,  when  we  met 
at  meals,  he  should  have  thumped  me  on  the  back,  with 
loud  derisive  inquiries:  "How's  the  deadly  sport  to- 
day.'^ Butterflies  going  strong?  Ha,  ha,  ha!" — es- 
pecially as  he  charged  me  two  dollars  per  diem  for  the 
hospitality  of  the  B.  O.  S.  Co.,  Ltd.  (capital  £1,500,000, 
full}'  paid  up),  in  whose  balance-sheet  for  that  year 
those  moneys  are  no  doubt  included.  "I  don't  think 
I  can  make  it  anything  less  in  justice  to  my  company," 
he  had  remarked,  with  extreme  gravity,  when  I  was  ar- 
ranging with  him  the  terms  of  my  stay  on  the  island. 

His  chaff  would  have  been  harmless  enough  if  in- 
timacy of  intercourse  in  the  absence  of  all  friendly 


AN  ANARCHIST  169 

feeling  were  not  a  thing  detestable  in  itself.  Moreover, 
his  facetiousness  was  not  very  amusing.  It  consisted 
in  the  wearisome  repetition  of  descriptive  phrases 
applied  to  people  with  a  burst  of  laughter.  "Desperate 
butterfly-slayer.  Ha,  ha,  ha!"  was  one  sample  of  his 
peculiar  wit  which  he  himself  enjoyed  so  much.  And 
in  the  same  vein  of  exquisite  humour  he  called  my 
attention  to  the  engineer  of  the  steam-launch,  one  day, 
as  we  strolled  on  the  path  by  the  side  of  the  creek. 

The  man's  head  and  shoulders  emerged  above  the 
deck,  over  which  were  scattered  various  tools  of  his 
trade  and  a  few  pieces  of  machinery.  He  was  doing 
some  repairs  to  the  engines.  At  the  sound  of  our  foot- 
steps he  raised  anxiously  a  grimy  face  with  a  pointed 
chin  and  a  tiny  fair  moustache.  WTiat  could  be  seen  of 
his  delicate  features  under  the  black  smudges  appeared 
to  me  wasted  and  livid  in  the  greenish  shade  of  the 
enormous  tree  spreading  its  foliage  over  the  launch 
moored  close  to  the  bank. 

To  my  great  surprise,  Harry  Gee  addressed  him  as 
"Crocodile,"  in  that  half -jeering,  half -bullying  tone 
which  is  characteristic  of  self-satisfaction  in  his  delect- 
able kind: 

"How  does  the  work  get  on,  Crocodile.'" 

I  should  have  said  before  that  the  amiable  Harry  had 
picked  up  French  of  a  sort  somewhere — in  some  colony 
or  other — and  that  he  pronounced  it  with  a  disagree- 
able, forced  precision  as  though  he  meant  to  guy  the 


170  A  SET  OF  SIX 

language.  The  man  in  the  launch  answered  him 
quickly  in  a  pleasant  voice.  His  eyes  had  a  liquid  soft- 
ness and  his  teeth  flashed  dazzlingly  white  between  his 
thin  drooping  lips.  The  manager  turned  to  me,  very 
cheerful  and  loud,  explaining: 

**I  call  him  Crocodile  because  he  hves  half  in,  half 
out  of,  the  creek.  Amphibious — see?  There's  nothing 
else  amphibious  living  on  the  island  except  crocodiles; 
so  he  must  belong  to  the  species — eh?  But  in  reality 
he's  nothing  less  than  un  citoyen  anarchiste  de  Bar- 
celone" 

"A  citizen  anarchist  from  Barcelona?"  I  repeated, 
stupidly,  looking  down  at  the  man.  He  had  tm-ned  to 
his  work  in  the  engine-well  of  the  launch  and  presented 
his  bowed  back  to  us.  In  that  attitude  I  heard  him 
protest,  very  audibly: 

"I  do  not  even  know  Spanish." 

"Hey?  What?  You  dare  to  deny  you  come  from 
over  there?"  the  accomphshed  manager  was  down  on 
him  truculently. 

At  this  the  man  straightened  himself  up,  dropping  a 
spanner  he  had  been  using,  and  faced  us;  but  he 
trembled  in  all  his  limbs. 

**I  deny  nothing,  nothing,  nothing!"  he  said,  ex- 
citedly. 

He  picked  up  the  spanner  and  went  to  work  again, 
without  paying  any  further  attention  to  us.  After 
looking  at  him  for  a  minute  or  so,  we  went  away. 


AN  ANARCHIST  171 

"Is  he  really  an  anarchist?"  I  asked,  when  out  of 
earshot. 

"I  don't  care  a  hang  what  he  is,"  answered  the 
humorous  official  of  the  B.  0.  S.  Co.  "I  gave  him  the 
name  because  it  suited  me  to  label  him  in  that  way.  It*s 
good  for  the  company." 

"For  the  company!"  I  exclaimed,  stopping  short. 

"Aha!"  he  triumphed,  tilting  up  his  hairless  pug 
face  and  straddling  his  thin  long  legs.  "That  surprises 
you.  I  am  bound  to  do  my  best  for  my  company. 
They  have  enormous  expenses.  Why — our  agent  in 
Horta  tells  me  they  spend  fifty  thousand  pounds  every 
year  in  advertising  all  over  the  world !  One  can't  be  too 
economical  in  working  the  show.  Well,  just  you  listen. 
When  I  took  charge  here  the  estate  had  no  steam-launch. 
I  asked  for  one,  and  kept  on  asking  by  every  mail  till  I 
got  it;  but  the  man  they  sent  out  with  it  chucked  his 
job  at  the  end  of  two  months,  leaving  the  launch 
moored  at  the  pontoon  in  Horta.  Got  a  better  screw  at 
a  sawmill  up  the  river — blast  him!  And  ever  since  it 
has  been  the  same  thing.  Any  Scotch  or  Yankee 
vagabond  that  likes  to  call  himself  a  mechanic  out  here 
gets  eighteen  pounds  a  month,  and  the  next  you  know 
he's  cleared  out,  after  smashing  something  as  likely  as 
not.  I  give  you  my  word  that  some  of  the  objects  I've 
had  for  engine-drivers  couldn't  tell  the  boiler  from  the 
funnel.  But  this  fellow  understands  his  trade,  and  I 
don't  mean  him  to  clear  out.    See?" 


172  A  SET  OF  SIX 

And  he  struck  me  lightly  on  the  chest  for  emphasis. 
Disregarding  his  peculiarities  of  manner,  I  wanted  to 
know  what  all  this  had  to  do  with  the  man  being  an 
anarchist. 

"  Come ! "  jeered  the  manager.  "  If  you  saw  suddenly 
a  barefooted,  unkempt  chap  slinking  amongst  the  bushes 
on  the  sea  face  of  the  island,  and  at  the  same  time 
observed  less  than  a  mile  from  the  beach  a  small 
schooner  full  of  niggers  hauling  off  in  a  hurry,  you 
wouldn't  think  the  man  fell  there  from  the  sky,  would 
you?  And  it  could  be  nothing  else  but  either  that  or 
Cayenne.  I've  got  my  wits  about  me.  Directly  I 
sighted  this  queer  game  I  said  to  myself:  'Escaped 
Convict.'  I  was  as  certain  of  it  as  I  am  of  seeing  you 
standing  here  this  minute.  So  I  spurred  on  straight  at 
him.  He  stood  his  ground  for  a  bit  on  a  sand  hillock 
crying  out:  ^Monsieur!  Monsieur!  Arretez!'  then  at 
the  last  moment  broke  and  ran  for  life.  Says  I  to  my- 
self, 'I'll  tame  you  before  I'm  done  with  you.'  So 
without  a  single  word  I  kept  on,  heading  him  off  here 
and  there.  I  rounded  him  up  toward  the  shore,  and  at 
last  I  had  him  corralled  on  a  spit,  his  heels  in  the  water, 
and  nothing  but  sea  and  sky  at  his  back,  with  my  horse 
pawing  the  sand  and  shaking  his  head  within  a  yard  of 
him. 

"He  folded  his  arms  on  his  breast  then  and  stuck  his 
chin  up  in  a  sort  of  desperate  way;  but  I  wasn't  to  be 
impressed  by  the  beggar's  posturing. 


AN  ANARCHIST  173 

"Says  I:  'You're  a  runaway  convict.' 

"When  he  heard  French,  his  chin  went  down  and 
his  face  changed. 

"'I  deny  nothing,'  says  he,  panting  yet,  for  I  had 
kept  him  skipping  about  in  front  of  my  horse  pretty 
smartly.  I  asked  him  what  he  was  doing  there.  He 
had  got  his  breath  by  then,  and  explained  that  he  had 
meant  to  make  his  way  to  a  farm  which  he  understood 
(from  the  schooner's  people,  I  suppose)  was  to  be  found 
in  the  neighbourhood.  At  that  I  laughed  aloud  and  he 
got  uneasy.  Had  he  been  deceived.^  Was  there  no 
farm  u^thin  walking  distance.^ 

"I  laughed  more  and  more.  He  was  on  foot,  and  of 
course  the  first  bunch  of  cattle  he  came  across  would 
have  stamped  him  to  rags  under  their  hoofs.  A  dis- 
mounted man  caught  on  the  feeding-grounds  hasn't  got 
the  ghost  of  a  chance. 

"'My  coming  upon  you  like  this  has  certainly  saved 
your  hfe,'  I  said.  He  remarked  that  perhaps  it  was  so; 
but  that  for  his  part  he  had  imagined  I  had  wanted  to 
kill  him  under  the  hoofs  of  my  horse.  I  assured  him 
that  nothing  would  have  been  easier  had  I  meant  it. 
And  then  we  came  to  a  sort  of  dead  stop.  For  the  life 
of  me  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  this  convict,  unless 
I  chucked  him  into  the  sea.  It  occurred  to  me  to  ask 
him  what  he  had  been  transported  for.  He  hung  his 
head. 

"'WTiat   is   it.^'   says   I.     'Theft,   murder,   rape,   or 


174  A  SET  OF  SIX 

what?'  I  wanted  to  hear  what  he  would  have  to  say  for 
himself,  though  of  course  I  expected  it  would  be  some 
sort  of  lie.     But  all  he  said  was : 

"*Make  it  what  you  like.    I  deny  nothing.    It  is  no 
good  denying  anything.* 

**I  looked  him  over  carefully  and  a  thought  struck 
me. 

***  They've  got  anarchists  there,  too,'  I  said.      *  Per- 
haps you're  one  of  them.' 

***I  deny  nothing  whatever,  monsieur,*  he  repeats. 

"This  answer  made  me  think  that  perhaps  he  was 

not  an  anarchist.     I  believe  those  damned  lunatics  are 

rather  proud  of  themselves.     If  he  had  been  one,  he 

would  have  probably  confessed  straight  out. 

** 'What  were  you  before  you  became  a  convict?* 
"  'Ouvner,  he  says.  'And  a  good  workman,  too.' 
"At  that  I  began  to  think  he  must  be  an  anarchist, 
after  all.  That's  the  class  they  come  mostly  from,  isn't 
it?  I  hate  the  cowardly  bomb-throwing  brutes.  I 
almost  made  up  my  mind  to  turn  my  horse  short  round 
and  leave  him  to  starve  or  drown  where  he  was,  which- 
ever he  liked  best.  As  to  crossing  the  island  to  bother 
me  again,  the  cattle  would  see  to  that.  I  don't  know 
what  induced  me  to  ask: 

***What  sort  of  a  workman?* 

"I  didn't  care  a  hang  whether  he  answered  me  or 
not.  But  when  he  said  at  once,  *  Mecaniden,  mon- 
iieuTy*  I  nearly  jimiped  out  of  the  saddle  with  excitement. 


AN  ANARCHIST  175 

The  launch  had  been  lying  disabled  and  idle  in  the 
creek  for  three  weeks.  My  duty  to  the  company  was 
clear.  He  noticed  my  start,  too,  and  there  we  were 
for  a  minute  or  so  staring  at  each  other  as  if  bewitched. 
**'Get  up  on  my  horse  behind  me,'  I  told  him.  'You 
shall  put  my  steam-launch  to  rights.' " 

These  are  the  words  in  which  the  worthy  manager 
of  the  Maranon  estate  related  to  me  the  coming  of  the 
supposed  anarchist.  He  meant  to  keep  him — out  of  a 
sense  of  duty  to  the  company — and  the  name  he  had 
given  him  would  prevent  the  fellow  from  obtaining 
employment  anywhere  in  Horta.  The  vaqueros  of  the 
estate,  when  they  went  on  leave,  spread  it  all  over  the 
town.  They  did  not  know  what  an  anarchist  was,  nor 
yet  what  Barcelona  meant.  They  called  him  Anarchisto 
de  Barcelona,  as  if  it  were  his  Christian  name  and  sur- 
name. But  the  people  in  town  had  been  reading  in  their 
papers  about  the  anarchists  in  Europe  and  were  very 
much  impressed.  Over  the  jocular  addi  ion  of  "de 
Barcelona"  Mr.  Harry  Gee  chuckled  with  immense 
satisfaction.  "That  breed  is  particularly  murderous, 
isn't  it?  It  makes  the  sawmills  crowd  still  more  afraid 
of  having  anything  to  do  with  him — see.'*"  he  exulted, 
candidly.  "I  hold  him  by  that  name  better  than  if  I 
had  him  chained  up  by  the  leg  to  the  deck  of  the  steam- 
launch. 

"And  mark,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "he  does  not 


176  A  SET  OF  SIX 

deny  it.  I  am  not  wronging  him  in  any  way.  He  is  a 
convict  of  some  sort,  anyhow." 

*'But  I  suppose  you  pay  him  some  wages,  don't  you?  " 
I  asked. 

"Wages!  What  does  he  want  with  money  here.? 
He  gets  his  food  from  my  kitchen  and  his  clothing  from 
the  store.  Of  course  I'll  give  him  something  at  the  end 
of  the  year,  but  you  don't  think  I'd  employ  a  convict 
and  give  him  the  same  money  I  would  give  an  honest 
man.f^  I  am  looking  after  the  interests  of  my  company 
first  and  last." 

I  admitted  that,  for  a  company  spending  fifty 
thousand  pounds  every  year  in  advertising,  the  strictest 
economy  was  obviously  necessary.  The  manager  of  the 
Marailon  Estancia  grunted  approvingly. 

"And  I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  continued:  "if  I  were 
certain  he's  an  anarchist  and  he  had  the  cheek  to  ask  me 
for  money,  I  would  give  him  the  toe  of  my  boot.  How- 
ever, let  him  have  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  I  am  per- 
fectly willing  to  take  it  that  he  has  done  nothing  worse 
than  to  stick  a  knife  into  somebody — with  extenuating 
circumstances — French  fashion,  don't  you  know.  But 
that  subversive  sanguinary  rot  of  doing  away  with  all 
law  and  order  in  the  world  makes  my  blood  boil.  It's 
simply  cutting  the  ground  from  under  the  feet  of  every 
decent,  respectable,  hard-working  person.  I  tell  you 
that  the  consciences  of  people  who  have  them,  like 
you  or  I,  must  be  protected  in  some  way;  or  else  the 


AN  ANARCHIST  177 

first  low  scoundrel  that  came  along  would  in  every 
respect  be  just  as  good  as  myself.  Wouldn't  he,  now? 
And  that's  absurd!" 

He  glared  at  me.  I  nodded  slightly  and  murmured 
that  doubtless  there  was  much  subtle  truth  in  his  view. 

The  principal  truth  discoverable  in  the  views  of  Paul 
the  engineer  was  that  a  little  thing  may  bring  about  the 
undoing  of  a  man. 

"7/  ne  faiit  pas  beaucoup  pour  perdre  un  homme,'^  he 
jaid  to  me,  thoughtfully,  one  evening. 

I  report  this  reflection  in  French,  since  the  man  was 
of  Paris,  not  of  Barcelona  at  all.  At  the  Maranon  he 
lived  apart  from  the  station,  in  a  small  shed  with  a 
metal  roof  and  straw  walls,  which  he  called  mon  atelier. 
He  had  a  work-bench  there.  They  had  given  him 
several  horse-blankets  and  a  saddle — not  that  he  ever 
had  occasion  to  ride,  but  because  no  other  bedding  was 
used  by  the  working-hands,  who  were  all  vaqueros — 
cattlemen.  And  on  this  horseman's  gear,  like  a  son  of 
the  plains,  he  used  to  sleep  amongst  the  tools  of  his  trade 
in  a  litter  of  rusty  scrap-iron,  with  a  portable  forge  at 
his  head,  under  the  work-bench  sustaining  his  grimy 
mosquito-net. 

Now  and  then  I  would  bring  him  a  few  candle  ends 
saved  from  the  scant  supply  of  the  manager's  house. 
He  was  very  thankful  for  these.  He  did  not  like  to  lie 
awake  in  the  dark,  he  confessed.     He  complained  that 


178  A  SET  OF  SIX 

sleep  fled  from  him.  "Le  sommeil  mefuit"  he  declared, 
with  his  habitual  air  of  subdued  stoicism,  which  made 
him  sympathetic  an4  touching.  I  made  it  clear  to  him 
that  I  did  not  attach  undue  importance  to  the  fact  of 
his  having  been  a  convict. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  one  evening  he  was  led  to 
talk  about  himself.  As  one  of  the  bits  of  the  candle  on 
the  edge  of  the  bench  burned  down  to  the  end,  he 
hastened  to  light  another. 

He  had  done  his  military  service  in  a  provincial 
garrison  and  returned  to  Paris  to  follow  his  trade.  It 
was  a  well-paid  one.  He  told  me  with  some  pride  that 
in  a  short  time  he  was  earning  no  less  than  ten  francs  a 
day.  He  was  thinking  of  setting  up  for  himself  by  and 
by  and  of  getting  married. 

Here  he  sighed  deeply  and  paused.  Then  with  a  re- 
turn to  his  stoical  note: 

**It  seems  I  did  not  know  enough  about  myself." 

On  his  twenty -fifth  birthday  two  of  his  friends  in  the 
repairing  shop  where  he  worked  proposed  to  stand  him 
a  dinner.     He  was  immensely  touched  by  this  attention. 

"I  was  a  steady  man,"  he  remarked,  "but  I  am  not 
less  sociable  than  any  other  body." 

The  entertainment  came  off  in  a  little  cafe  on  the 
Boulevard  de  la  Chapelle.  At  dinner  they  drank  some 
special  wine.  It  was  excellent.  Everything  was  excel- 
lent; and  the  world — in  his  own  words — seemed  a  very 
good  place  to  live  in.     He  had  good  prospects,  some 


AN  ANARCHIST  179 

little  money  laid  by,  and  the  affection  of  two  excellent 
friends.  He  offered  to  pay  for  all  the  drinks  after 
dinner,  which  was  only  proper  on  his  part. 

They  drank  more  wine;  they  drank  liqueurs,  cognac, 
beer,  then  more  liqueurs  and  more  cognac.  Two 
strangers  sitting  at  the  next  table  looked  at  him,  he  said, 
with  so  much  friendliness  that  he  invited  them  to  join 
the  party. 

He  had  never  drunk  so  much  in  his  life.  His  elation 
was  extreme,  and  so  pleasurable  that  whenever  it  flagged 
he  hastened  to  order  more  drinks. 

"It  seemed  to  me,"  he  said,  in  his  quiet  tone  and 
looking  on  the  ground  in  the  gloomy  shed  full  of 
shadows,  "that  I  was  on  the  point  of  just  attaining  a 
great  and  wonderful  felicity.  Another  drink,  I  felt, 
would  do  it.  The  others  were  holding  out  well  with 
me,  glass  for  glass." 

But  an  extraordinary  thing  happened.  At  some- 
thing the  strangers  said  his  elation  fell.  Gloomy  ideas 
— des  idees  noires — rushed  into  his  head.  All  the  world 
outside  the  cafe  appeared  to  him  as  a  dismal  evil  place 
where  a  multitude  of  poor  wretches  had  to  work  and 
slave  to  the  sole  end  that  a  few  individuals  should  ride 
in  carriages  and  live  riotously  in  palaces.  He  became 
ashamed  of  his  happiness.  The  pity  of  mankind's  cruel 
lot  wrung  his  heart.  In  a  voice  choked  with  sorrow  he 
tried  to  express  these  sentiments.  He  thinks  he  wept 
and  swore  in  turns. 


180  A  SET  OF  SIX 

The  two  new  acquaintances  hastened  to  applaud  his 
humane  indignation.  Yes.  The  amount  of  injustice 
in  the  world  was  indeed  scandalous.  There  was  only 
one  way  of  dealing  with  the  rotten  state  of  society. 
Demolish  the  whole  sacree  boutique.  Blow  up  the  whole 
iniquitous  show. 

Their  heads  hovered  over  the  table.  They  whispered 
to  him  eloquently;  I  don't  think  they  quite  expected 
the  result.  He  was  extremely  drunk — mad  drunk. 
With  a  howl  of  rage  he  leaped  suddenly  upon  the  table. 
Ejcking  over  the  bottles  and  glasses,  he  yelled:  "Vive 
V anarchic!  Death  to  the  capitalists!"  He  yelled  this 
again  and  again.  All  round  him  broken  glass  was  fall- 
ing, chairs  were  being  swung  in  the  air,  people  were 
taking  each  other  by  the  throat.  The  police  dashed  in. 
He  hit,  bit,  scratched,  and  struggled,  till  something 
crashed  down  upon  his  head.     .     .     . 

He  came  to  himself  in  a  pohce  cell,  locked  up  on  a 
charge  of  assault,  seditious  cries,  and  anarchist  propa- 
ganda. 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly  with  his  liquid,  shining  eyes, 
that  seemed  very  big  in  the  dim  light. 

"That  was  bad.  But  even  then  I  might  have  got  off 
somehow,  perhaps,"  he  said  slowly. 

I  doubt  it.  But  whatever  chance  he  had  was  done 
away  with  by  a  young  socialist  lawyer  who  volunteered 
to  undertake  his  defence.  In  vain  he  assured  him  that 
he  was  no  anarchist;  that  he  was  a  quiet,  respectable 


AN  ANARCHIST  181 

mechanic,  only  too  anxious  to  work  ten  hours  per  day 
at  his  trade.  He  was  represented  at  the  trial  as  the 
victim  of  society  and  his  drunken  shoutings  as  the  ex- 
pression of  infinite  suffering.  The  young  lawyer  had 
his  way  to  make,  and  this  case  was  just  what  he  wanted 
for  a  start.  The  speech  for  the  defence  was  pronounced 
magnificent. 

The  poor  fellow  paused,  swallowed,  and  brought  out 
the  statement: 

"I  got  the  maximum  penalty  applicable  to  a  first 
offence." 

I  made  an  appropriate  murmur.  He  hung  his  head 
and  folded  his  arms. 

"When  they  let  me  out  of  prison,"  he  began,  gently, 
*'I  made  tracks,  of  course,  for  my  old  workshop.  My 
patron  had  a  particular  liking  for  me  before;  but  when 
he  saw  me  he  turned  green  with  fright  and  showed  me 
the  door  with  a  shaking  hand." 

While  he  stood  in  the  street,  uneasy  and  disconcerted, 
he  was  accosted  by  a  middle-aged  man  who  introduced 
himself  as  an  engineer's  fitter,  too.  "I  know  who  you 
are,"  he  said.  "I  have  attended  your  trial.  You  are  a 
good  comrade  and  your  ideas  are  sound.  But  the  devil 
of  it  is  that  you  won't  be  able  to  get  work  anywhere 
now.  These  bourgeois'll  conspire  to  starve  you.  That's 
their  way.     Expect  no  mercy  from  the  rich." 

To  be  spoken  to  so  kindly  in  the  street  had  comforted 
him  very  much.     His  seemed  to  be  the  sort  of  nature 


182  A  SET  OF  SIX 

needing  support  and  sympathy.  The  idea  of  not  being 
able  to  find  work  had  knocked  him  over  completely.  If 
his  patron,  who  knew  him  so  well  for  a  quiet,  orderly, 
competent  workman,  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him  now — then  surely  nobody  else  would.  That  was 
clear.  The  police,  keeping  their  eye  on  him,  would 
hasten  to  warn  every  employer  inclined  to  give  him  a 
chance.  He  felt  suddenly  very  helpless,  alarmed,  and 
idle;  and  he  followed  the  middle-aged  man  to  the 
estaminet  round  the  corner  where  he  met  some  other 
good  companions.  They  assured  him  that  he  would  not 
be  allowed  to  starve,  work  or  no  work.  They  had 
drinks  all  round  to  the  discomfiture  of  all  employers  of 
labour  and  to  the  destruction  of  society. 

He  sat  biting  his  lower  lip. 

"That  is,  monsieur,  how  I  became  a  compagnon,"  he 
said.  The  hand  he  passed  over  his  forehead  was 
trembling.  "All  the  same,  there's  something  wrong  in 
a  world  where  a  man  can  get  lost  for  a  glass  more  or 
less." 

He  never  looked  up,  though  I  could  see  he  was  get- 
ting excited  under  his  dejection.  He  slapped  the  bench 
with  his  open  palm. 

"No!"  he  cried.  "It  was  an  impossible  existence! 
Watched  by  the  police,  watched  by  the  comrades,  I 
did  not  belong  to  myself  any  more!  Why,  I  could  not 
even  go  to  draw  a  few  francs  from  my  savings-bank 
without  a  comrade  hanging  about  the  door  to  see  that 


AN  ANARCHIST  183 

I  didn't  bolt!  And  most  of  them  were  neither  more 
nor  less  than  housebreakers.  The  intelligent,  I  mean. 
They  robbed  the  rich;  they  were  only  getting  back 
their  own,  they  said.  When  I  had  had  some  drink  I 
believed  them.  There  were  also  the  fools  and  the  mad. 
Des  exaltSs — quoi!  When  I  was  drunk  I  loved  them. 
When  I  got  more  drink  I  was  angry  with  the  world. 
That  was  the  best  time.  I  found  refuge  from  misery  in 
rage.  But  one  can't  be  always  drunk — rCest-ce  pas, 
monsieur?  And  when  I  was  sober  I  was  afraid  to  break 
away.     They  would  have  stuck  me  like  a  pig." 

He  folded  his  arms  again  and  raised  his  sharp  chin 
with  a  bitter  smile. 

"By  and  by  they  told  me  it  was  time  to  go  to  work. 
The  work  was  to  rob  a  bank.  Afterward  a  bomb 
would  be  thrown  to  wreck  the  place.  My  beginner's 
part  would  be  to  keep  watch  in  a  street  at  the  back  and 
to  take  care  of  a  black  bag  with  the  bomb  inside  till  it 
was  wanted.  After  the  meeting  at  which  the  affair  was 
arranged  a  trusty  comrade  did  not  leave  me  an  inch. 
I  had  not  dared  to  protest;  I  was  afraid  of  being  done 
away  with  quietly  in  that  room;  only,  as  we  were 
walking  together  I  wondered  whether  it  would  not 
be  better  for  me  to  throw  myself  suddenly  into  the 
Seine.  But  while  I  was  turning  it  over  in  my  mind 
we  had  crossed  the  bridge,  and  afterward  I  had  not 
the  opportunity." 

In  the  light  of  the  candle  end,  with  his  sharp  features, 


184  A  SET  OF  SIX 

flufTy  little  moustache,  and  oval  face,  he  looked  at 
times  delicately  and  gayly  young,  and  then  appeared 
quite  old,  decrepit,  full  of  sorrow,  pressing  his  folded 
arms  to  his  breast. 

As  he  remained  silent  I  felt  boimd  to  ask: 

"  WeU !     And  how  did  it  end?  " 

"Deportation  to  Cayenne,"  he  answered. 

He  seemed  to  think  that  somebody  had  given  the 
plot  away.  As  he  was  keeping  watch  in  the  back 
street,  bag  in  hand,  he  was  set  upon  by  the  police. 
"These  imbeciles,"  had  knocked  him  down  without 
noticing  what  he  had  in  his  hand.  He  wondered  how  the 
bomb  failed  to  explode  as  he  fell.     But  it  didn't  explode. 

"I  tried  to  tell  my  story  in  court,"  he  continued. 
"The  president  was  amused.  There  were  in  the  audi- 
ence some  idiots  who  laughed." 

I  expressed  the  hope  that  some  of  his  companions 
had  been  caught,  too.  He  shuddered  slightly  before  he 
told  me  that  there  were  two — Simon,  called  also  Biscuit, 
the  middle-aged  fitter  who  spoke  to  him  in  the  street, 
and  a  fellow  of  the  name  of  Mafile,  one  of  the  sym- 
pathetic strangers  who  had  applauded  his  sentiments 
and  consoled  his  humanitarian  sorrows  when  he  got 
drunk  in  the  cafe. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  with  an  effort,  "I  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  their  company  over  there  on  St.  Joseph's 
Island,  amongst  some  eighty  or  ninety  other  convicts. 
We  were  all  classed  as  dangerous." 


AN  ANARCHIST  185 

St.  Joseph's  Island  is  the  prettiest  of  the  lies  de  Salut. 
It  is  rocky  and  green,  with  shallow  ravines,  bushes, 
thickets,  groves  of  mango-trees,  and  many  feather^' 
palms.  Six  warders  armed  with  revolvers  and  car- 
bines are  in  charge  of  the  convicts  kept  there. 

An  eight-oared  galley  keeps  up  the  communication 
in  the  daytime,  across  a  channel  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
wide,  with  the  He  Roy  ale,  where  there  is  a  military  post. 
She  makes  the  first  trip  at  six  in  the  morning.  At  four 
in  the  afternoon  her  service  is  over,  and  she  is  then 
hauled  up  into  a  little  dock  on  the  He  Royale  and  a 
sentry  put  over  her  and  a  few  smaller  boats.  From 
that  time  till  next  morning  the  island  of  St.  Joseph 
remains  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  with  the 
warders  patrolling  in  turn  the  path  from  the  warders' 
house  to  the  convict  huts,  and  a  multitude  of  sharks 
patrolling  the  waters  all  round. 

Under  these  circumstances  the  convicts  planned  a 
mutiny.  Such  a  thing  had  never  been  known  in  the 
penitentiary's  history  before.  But  their  plan  was  not 
without  some  possibility  of  success.  The  warders  were 
to  be  taken  by  surprise  and  murdered  during  the  night. 
Their  arms  would  enable  the  convicts  to  shoot  do^Ti 
the  people  in  the  galley  as  she  came  alongside  in  the 
morning.  The  galley  once  in  their  possession,  other 
boats  were  to  be  captured,  and  the  whole  company  was 
to  row  away  up  the  coast. 

At  dusk  the  two  warders  on  duty  mustered  the  con- 


186  A  SET  OF  SIX 

victs  as  usual.  Then  they  proceeded  to  inspect  the 
huts  to  ascertain  that  everything  was  in  order.  In  the 
second  they  entered  they  were  set  upon  and  absolutely 
smothered  under  the  numbers  of  their  assailants.  The 
twilight  faded  rapidly.  It  was  a  new  moon;  and  a 
heavy  black  squall  gathering  over  the  coast  increased 
the  profound  darkness  of  the  night.  The  convicts 
assembled  in  the  open  space,  deliberating  upon  the  next 
step  to  be  taken,  argued  amongst  themselves  in  low 
voices. 

"You  took  part  in  all  this.?"  I  asked. 

"No.  I  knew  what  was  going  to  be  done,  of  course. 
But  why  should  I  kill  these  warders.''  I  had  nothing 
against  them.  But  I  was  afraid  of  the  others.  WTiat- 
ever  happened,  I  could  not  escape  from  them.  I  sat 
alone  on  the  stump  of  a  tree  with  my  head  in  my  hands, 
sick  at  heart  at  the  thought  of  a  freedom  that  could  be 
nothing  but  a  mockery  to  me.  Suddenly  I  was  startled 
to  perceive  the  shape  of  a  man  on  the  path  near  by. 
He  stood  perfectly  still,  then  his  form  became  effaced  in 
the  night.  It  must  have  been  the  chief  warder  coming 
to  see  what  had  become  of  his  two  men.  No  one  noticed 
him.  The  convicts  kept  on  quarrelling  over  their  plans. 
The  leaders  could  not  get  themselves  obeyed.  The 
fierce  whispering  of  that  dark  mass  of  men  was  very 
horrible. 

"At  last  they  divided  into  two  parties  and  moved  off. 
When  they  had  passed  me  I  rose,  weary  and  hopeless. 


AN  ANARCHIST  187 

The  path  to  the  warders'  house  was  dark  and  silent, 
but  on  each  side  the  bushes  rustled  slightly.  Presently 
I  saw  a  faint  thread  of  light  before  me.  The  chief 
warder,  followed  by  his  three  men,  was  approaching 
cautiously.  But  he  had  failed  to  close  his  dark  lantern 
properly.  The  convicts  had  seen  that  faint  gleam,  too. 
There  was  an  aw^ul  savage  yell,  a  turmoil  on  the  dark 
path,  shots  fired,  blows,  groans:  and  with  the  sound  of 
smashed  bushes,  the  shouts  of  the  pursuers  and  the 
screams  of  the  pursued,  the  man-hunt,  the  warder- 
hunt,  passed  by  me  into  the  interior  of  the  island.  I 
was  alone.  And  I  assure  you,  monsieur,  I  was  in- 
different to  everything.  After  standing  still  for  a 
while,  I  walked  on  along  the  path  till  I  kicked  some- 
thing hard.  I  stooped  and  picked  up  a  warder's 
revolver.  I  felt  with  my  fingers  that  it  was  loaded 
in  five  chambers.  In  the  gusts  of  wind  I  heard  the 
convicts  calling  to  each  other  far  away,  and  then  a 
roll  of  thunder  would  cover  the  soughing  and  rustling  of 
the  trees.  Suddenly  a  big  light  ran  across  my  path 
very  low  along  the  ground.  And  it  showed  a  woman's 
skirt  with  the  edge  of  an  apron. 

*'I  knew  that  the  person  who  carried  it  must  be  the 
wife  of  the  head  warder.  They  had  forgotten  all  about 
her,  it  seems.  A  shot  rang  out  in  the  interior  of  the 
island,  and  she  cried  out  to  herself  as  she  ran.  She 
passed  on.  I  followed,  and  presently  I  saw  her  again. 
She  was  pulling  at  the  cord  of  the  big  bell  which  hangs 


188  A  SET  OF  SIX 

at  the  end  of  the  landing-pier,  with  one  hand,  and  with 
the  other  she  was  swinging  the  heavy  lantern  to  and  fro. 
This  is  the  agreed  signal  for  the  He  Royale  should 
assistance  be  required  at  night.  The  wind  carried  the 
sound  away  from  our  island  and  the  light  she  swung 
was  hidden  on  the  shore  side  by  the  few  trees  that  grow 
near  the  warders'  house. 

"I  came  up  quite  close  to  her  from  behind.  She 
went  on  without  stopping,  without  looking  aside,  as 
though  she  had  been  all  alone  on  the  island.  A  brave 
woman,  monsieur.  I  put  the  revolver  inside  the  breast 
of  my  blue  blouse  and  waited.  A  flash  of  lightning 
and  a  clap  of  thunder  destroyed  both  the  sound  and 
the  light  of  the  signal  for  an  instant,  but  she  never 
faltered,  pulling  at  the  cord  and  swinging  the  lantern  as 
regularly  as  a  machine.  She  was  a  comely  woman  of 
thirty — no  more.  I  thought  to  myself,  *A11  that's  no 
good  on  a  night  like  this.'  And  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  if  a  body  of  my  fellow-convicts  came  down  to  the 
pier — which  was  sure  to  happen  soon — I  would  shoot 
her  through  the  head  before  I  shot  myself.  I  knew  the 
'comrades'  well.  This  idea  of  mine  gave  me  quite  an 
interest  in  life,  monsieur;  and  at  once,  instead  of  re- 
maining stupidly  exposed  on  the  pier,  I  retreated  a  little 
way  and  crouched  behind  a  bush.  I  did  not  intend  to 
let  myself  be  pounced  upon  unawares  and  be  prevented 
perhaps  from  rendering  a  supreme  service  to  at  least 
one  human  creature  before  I  died  myself. 


AN  ANARCHIST  189 

"But  we  must  believe  the  signal  was  seen,  for  the 
galley  from  He  Royale  came  over  in  an  astonishingly 
short  time.  The  woman  kept  right  on  till  the  light  of 
her  lantern  flashed  upon  the  oflBcer  in  command  and 
the  bayonets  of  the  soldiers  in  the  boat.  Then  she  sat 
down  and  began  to  cry. 

"She  didn't  need  me  any  more.  I  did  not  budge. 
Some  soldiers  were  only  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  others 
without  boots,  just  as  the  call  to  arms  had  found  them. 
They  passed  by  my  bush  at  the  double.  The  galley  had 
been  sent  away  for  more;  and  the  woman  sat  all  alone 
crying  at  the  end  of  the  pier,  uath  the  lantern  standing 
on  the  ground  near  her. 

"Then  suddenly  I  saw  in  the  light  at  the  end  of  the 
pier  the  red  pantaloons  of  two  more  men.  I  was  over- 
come with  astonishment.  They,  too,  started  off  at  a 
run.  Their  tunics  flapped  unbuttoned  and  they  were 
bare-headed.  One  of  them  panted  out  to  the  other: 
'Straight  on,  straight  on!' 

"Where  on  earth  did  they  spring  from,  I  wondered. 
Slowly  I  walked  down  the  short  pier.  I  saw  the 
woman's  form  shaken  by  sobs  and  heard  her  moaning 
more  and  more  distinctly,  *  Oh,  my  man !  my  poor  man ! 
ray  poor  man!'  I  stole  on  quietly.  She  could  neither 
hear  nor  see  anji:hing.  She  had  thrown  her  apron  over 
her  head  and  was  rocking  herself  to  and  fro  in  her  grief. 
But  I  remarked  a  small  boat  fastened  to  the  end  of  the 
pier. 


190  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"Those  two  men — they  looked  like  sous-officiers — 
must  have  come  in  it,  after  being  too  late,  I  suppose,  for 
the  galley.  It  is  incredible  that  they  should  have  thus 
broken  the  regulations  from  a  sense  of  duty.  And  it 
was  a  stupid  thing  to  do.  I  could  not  believe  my  eyes 
in  the  very  moment  I  was  stepping  into  that  boat. 

"I  pulled  along  the  shore  slowly.  A  black  cloud 
hung  over  the  lies  de  Salut.  I  heard  firing,  shouts. 
Another  hunt  had  begun — the  convict-hunt.  The  oars 
"were  too  long  to  pull  comfortably.  I  managed  them 
with  difficulty,  though  the  boat  herself  was  light.  But 
when  I  got  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  island  the 
squall  broke  in  rain  and  wind.  I  was  unable  to  make 
head  against  it.  I  let  the  boat  drift  ashore  and  secured 
her. 

"I  knew  the  spot.  There  was  a  tumbledown  old 
hovel  standing  near  the  water.  Cowering  in  there,  I 
heard  through  the  noises  of  the  wind  and  the  falling 
downpour  some  people  tearing  through  the  bushes. 
They  came  out  on  the  strand.  Soldiers,  perhaps.  A 
flash  of  lightning  threw  everything  near  me  into  violent 
relief.     Two  convicts! 

"And  directly  an  amazed  voice  exclaimed:  *It's  a 
miracle !'     It  was  the  voice  of  Simon,  otherwise  Biscuit. 

"And  another  voice  growled,  'What's  a  miracle?' 

"'Why,  there's  a  boat  lying  here!' 

"'You  must  be  mad,  Simon!  But  there  is,  after  all. 
.    .     .    A  boat.' 


AN  ANARCHIST  191 

"They  seemed  awed  into  complete  silence.  The 
other  man  was  Mafile.     He  spoke  again,  cautiously: 

"'It  is  fastened  up.     There  must  be  somebody  here.' 

"  I  spoke  to  them  from  within  the  hovel:  'I  am  here.* 

"They  came  in  then,  and  soon  gave  me  to  understand 
that  the  boat  was  theirs,  not  mine.  'There  are  two  of 
us,'  said  Mafile,  'against  you  alone.' 

"I  got  out  into  the  open  to  keep  clear  of  them  for 
fear  of  getting  a  treacherous  blow  on  the  head.  I  could 
have  shot  them  both  where  they  stood.  But  I  said 
nothing.  I  kept  do^\Tl  the  laughter  rising  in  my  throat. 
I  made  myself  very  humble  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to 
go.  They  consulted  in  low  tones  about  my  fate,  while 
with  my  hand  on  the  revolver  in  the  bosom  of  my  blouse 
I  had  their  lives  in  my  power.  I  let  them  live.  I  meant 
them  to  pull  that  boat.  I  represented  to  them  with 
abject  humility  that  I  understood  the  management  of  a 
boat,  and  that,  being  three  to  pull,  we  could  get  a  rest 
in  turns.  That  decided  them  at  last.  It  was  time.  A 
little  more  and  I  would  have  gone  into  screaming  fits  at 
the  drollness  of  it." 

At  this  point  his  excitement  broke  out.  He  jumped 
off  the  bench  and  gesticulated.  The  great  shadows  of 
his  arms  darting  over  roof  and  walls  made  the  shed 
appear  too  small  to  contain  his  agitation. 

"I  deny  nothing,"  he  burst  out.  "I  was  elated, 
monsieur.  I  tasted  a  sort  of  felicity.  But  I  kept  very 
quiet.     I  took  my  turns  at  pulling  all  through  the  night. 


192  A  SET  OF  SIX 

We  made  for  the  open  sea,  putting  our  trust  in  a  passing 
ship.  It  was  a  foolhardy  action.  I  persuaded  them  to 
it.  When  the  sun  rose  the  immensity  of  water  was 
calm,  and  the  lies  de  Salut  appeared  only  like  dark 
specks  from  the  top  of  each  swell.  I  was  steering  then. 
Mafile,  who  was  pulling  bow,  let  out  an  oath  and  said : 
'We  must  rest.' 

"The  time  to  laugh  had  come  at  last.  And  I  took 
my  fill  of  it,  I  can  tell  you.  I  held  my  sides  and  rolled 
in  my  seat,  they  had  such  startled  faces.  'What's  got 
into  him,  the  animal.'*'  cries  Mafile. 

"And  Simon,  who  was  nearest  to  me,  says  over  his 
shoulder  to  him:  'Devil  take  me  if  I  don't  think  he's 
gone  mad!' 

"Then  I  produced  the  revolver.  Aha!  In  a  mo- 
ment they  both  got  the  stoniest  eyes  you  can  imagine. 
Ha,  ha!  They  were  frightened.  But  they  pulled. 
Oh,  yes,  they  puUed  all  day,  sometimes  looking  wild 
and  sometimes  looking  faint.  I  lost  nothing  of  it, 
because  I  had  to  keep  my  eyes  on  them  all  the  time,  or 
else — crack! — they  would  have  been  on  top  of  me  in 
a  second.  I  rested  my  revolver  hand  on  my  knee  all 
ready  and  steered  with  the  other.  Their  faces  began  to 
blister.  Sky  and  sea  seemed  on  fire  round  us  and  the 
sea  steamed  in  the  sun.  The  boat  made  a  sizzling  sound 
as  she  went  through  the  water.  Sometimes  Mafile 
foamed  at  the  mouth  and  sometimes  he  groaned.  But 
he  pulled.    He  dared  not  stop.    His  eyes  became  blood- 


AN  ANARCHIST  193 

shot  all  over,  and  he  had  bitten  his  lower  lip  to  pieces. 
Simon  was  as  hoarse  as  a  crow. 

"'Comrade '  he  begins. 

"'There  are  no  comrades  here.     I  am  your  patron.* 

"'Patron,  then,'  he  says,  'in  the  name  of  humanity 
let  us  rest.' 

"I  let  them.  There  was  a  little  rainwater  washing 
about  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  I  permitted  them  to 
snatch  some  of  it  in  the  hollow  of  their  palms.  But  as  I 
gave  the  command  '  En  route'  I  caught  them  exchanging 
significant  glances.  They  thought  I  would  have  to  go 
to  sleep  some  time!  Aha!  But  I  did  not  want  to 
go  to  sleep.  I  was  more  awake  than  ever.  It  is  they 
who  went  to  sleep  as  they  pulled,  tumbling  off  the 
thwarts  head  over  heels  suddenly,  one  after  another. 
I  let  them  lie.  All  the  stars  were  out.  It  was  a 
quiet  world.  The  sun  rose.  Another  day.  Allez  !  En 
route ! 

"They  pulled  badly.  Their  eyes  rolled  about  and 
their  tongues  hung  out.  In  the  middle  of  the  forenoon 
Mafiile  croaks  out :  '  Let  us  make  a  rush  at  him,  Simon. 
I  would  just  as  soon  be  shot  at  once  as  to  die  of  thirst, 
hunger,  and  fatigue  at  the  oar.' 

"But  while  he  spoke  he  pulled;  and  Simon  kept  on 
pulling,  too.  It  made  me  smile.  Ah!  They  loved 
their  life,  these  two,  in  this  evil  world  of  theirs,  just 
as  I  used  to  love  my  life,  too,  before  they  spoiled  it 
for  me  with  their  phrases.     I  let  them  go  on  to  the 


194  A  SET  OF  SIX 

point  of  exhaustion,  and  only  then  I  pointed  out  at  the 
sails  of  a  ship  on  the  horizon. 

"Aha!  You  should  have  seen  them  revive  and 
buckle  to  their  work!  For  I  kept  them  at  it  to  pull 
right  across  that  ship's  path.  They  were  changed.  The 
sort  of  pity  I  had  felt  for  them  left  me.  They  looked 
more  like  themselves  every  minute.  They  looked  at 
me  with  the  glances  I  remembered  so  well.  They  were 
happy.     They  smiled. 

*"Well,'  says  Simon,  'the  energy  of  that  youngster 
has  saved  our  lives.  If  he  hadn't  made  us,  we  could 
never  have  pulled  so  far  out  into  the  track  of  ships. 
Comrade,  I  forgive  you.     I  admire  you.' 

"And  Mafile  growls  from  forward:  'We  owe  you  a 
famous  debt  of  gratitude,  comrade.  You  are  cut  out 
for  a  chief.' 

"Comrade!  Monsieur!  Ah,  what  a  good  word! 
And  they,  such  men  as  these  two,  had  made  it  accursed. 
I  looked  at  them.  I  remembered  their  lies,  their 
promises,  their  menaces,  and  all  my  days  of  misery. 
Why  could  they  not  have  left  me  alone  after  I  came  out 
of  prison?  I  looked  at  them  and  thought  that  while 
they  lived  I  could  never  be  free.  Never.  Neither  I 
nor  others  like  me  with  warm  hearts  and  weak  heads. 
For  I  know  I  have  not  a  strong  head,  monsiem*.  A 
black  rage  came  upon  me — the  rage  of  extreme  intoxi- 
cation— but  not  against  the  injustice  of  society.  Oh, 
no! 


AN  ANARCHIST  195 

"*I  must  be  free!'  I  cried,  furiously. 

"'Vive  la  liberie!'  yells  that  ruffian  Mafile.  'Mori 
aux  bourgeois  who  send  us  to  Cayenne!  They  shall 
soon  know  that  we  are  free.' 

"The  sky,  the  sea,  the  whole  horizon,  seemed  to  turn 
red,  blood  red  all  round  the  boat.  My  temples  were 
beating  so  loud  that  I  wondered  they  did  not  hear. 
How  is  it  that  they  did  not?  How  is  it  they  did  not 
understand.'' 

"I  heard  Simon  ask,  *Have  we  not  pulled  far  enough 
out  now.'*' 

"'Yes.  Far  enough,'  I  said.  I  was  sorry  for  him; 
it  was  the  other  I  hated.  He  hauled  in  his  oar  with  a 
loud  sigh,  and  as  he  was  raising  his  hand  to  wipe  his 
forehead  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  done  his  work,  I 
pulled  the  trigger  of  my  revolver  and  shot  him  like  this 
off  the  knee,  right  through  the  heart. 

"He  tumbled  down,  with  his  head  hanging  over  the 
side  of  the  boat.  I  did  not  give  him  a  second  glance. 
The  other  cried  out  piercingly.  Only  one  shriek  of 
horror.     Then  all  was  still. 

"He  slipped  oflF  the  thwart  on  to  his  knees  and  raised 
his  clasped  hands  before  his  face  in  an  attitude  of  suppli- 
cation. 'Mercy,'  he  whispered,  faintly.  'Mercy  for 
me! — comrade.' 

*"Ah,  comrade,'  I  said,  in  a  low  tone.  'Yes,  com- 
rade, of  course.     Well,  then,  shout  Vive  Vanarchie* 

"He  flung  up  his  arms,  his  face  up  to  the  sky  and 


196  A  SET  OF  SIX 

his  mouth  wide  open  in  a  great  yell  of  despair:  *Vive 
Vanarchie!     Vive ' 

"He  collapsed  all  in  a  heap,  with  a  bullet  through 
his  head. 

"I  flung  them  both  overboard.  I  threw  away  the 
revolver,  too.  Then  I  sat  down  quietly.  I  was  free  at 
last!  At  last.  I  did  not  even  look  toward  the  ship; 
I  did  not  care;  indeed,  I  think  I  must  have  gone  to 
sleep,  because  all  of  a  sudden  there  were  shouts  and  I 
found  the  ship  almost  on  top  of  me.  They  hauled  me 
on  board  and  secured  the  boat  astern.  They  were  all 
blacks,  except  the  captain,  who  was  a  mulatto.  He 
alone  knew  a  few  words  of  French.  I  could  not  find 
out  where  they  were  going  nor  who  they  were.  They 
gave  me  something  to  eat  every  day;  but  I  did  not  Hke 
the  way  they  used  to  discuss  me  in  their  language. 
Perhaps  they  were  dehberating  about  throwing  me  over- 
board in  order  to  keep  possession  of  the  boat.  How  do 
I  know.'^  As  we  were  passing  this  island  I  asked 
whether  it  was  inhabited.  I  understood  from  the 
mulatto  that  there  was  a  house  on  it.  A  farm,  I  fancied, 
they  meant.  So  I  asked  them  to  put  me  ashore  on 
the  beach  and  keep  the  boat  for  their  trouble.  This,  I 
Imagine,  was  just  what  they  wanted.  The  rest  you 
know." 

After  pronouncing  these  words  he  lost  suddenly  all 
control  over  himself.  He  paced  to  and  fro  rapidly,  till 
at  last  he  broke  into  a  run;  his  arms  went  like  a  wind- 


AN  ANARCHIST  197 

mill  and  his  ejaculations  became  very  much  like  raving. 
The  burden  of  them  was  that  he  "denied  nothing, 
nothing!"  I  could  only  let  him  go  on,  and  sat  out  of 
his  way,  repeating,  "Calmez  vous,  calmez  vouSy^  at  in- 
tervals, till  his  agitation  exhausted  itself. 

I  must  confess,  too,  that  I  remained  there  long  after 
he  had  crawled  under  his  mosquito-net.  He  had  en- 
treated me  not  to  leave  him;  so,  as  one  sits  up  with  a 
nervous  child,  I  sat  up  with  him — in  the  name  of 
humanity — till  he  fell  asleep. 

On  the  whole,  my  idea  is  that  he  was  much  more  of 
an  anarchist  than  he  confessed  to  me  or  to  himself;  and 
that,  the  special  features  of  his  case  apart,  he  was  very 
much  like  many  other  anarchists.  Warm  heart  and 
weak  head — that  is  the  word  of  the  riddle;  and  it  is  a 
fact  that  the  bitterest  contradictions  and  the  deadHest 
conflicts  of  the  world  are  carried  on  in  every  individual 
breast  capable  of  feeling  and  passion. 

From  personal  inquiry  I  can  vouch  that  the  story  of 
the  convict  mutiny  was  in  every  particular  as  stated  by 
him. 

When  I  got  back  to  Horta  from  Cayenne  and  saw 
the  "anarchist"  again,  he  did  not  look  well.  He  was 
more  worn,  still  more  frail,  and  very  livid  indeed  under 
the  grimy  smudges  of  his  calling.  Evidently  the  meat 
of  the  company's  main  herd  (in  its  unconcentrated  form) 
did  not  agree  with  him  at  all. 

It  was  on  the  pontoon  in  Horta  that  we  met;  and  I 


198  A  SET  OF  SIX 

tried  to  induce  him  to  leave  the  launch  moored  where 
she  was  and  follow  me  to  Europe  there  and  then.  It 
would  have  been  dehghtful  to  think  of  the  excellent 
manager's  surprise  and  disgust  at  the  poor  fellow's 
escape.     But  he  refused  with  unconquerable  obstinacy. 

"Surely  you  don't  mean  to  live  always  here!"  I  cried. 
He  shook  his  head. 

"I  shall  die  here,"  he  said.  Then  added  moodily: 
"Away  from  them.'^ 

Sometimes  I  think  of  him  lying  open-eyed  on  his 
horseman's  gear  in  the  low  shed  full  of  tools  and  scraps 
of  iron — the  anarchist  slave  of  the  Maranon  estate, 
waiting  with  resignation  for  that  sleep  which  "fled"  from 
him,  as  he  used  to  say,  in  such  an  imaccountable  man- 
ner. 


A  MILITARY  TALE 


THE  DUEL 


NAPOLEON  I,  whose  career  had  the  quality  of 
duel  against  the  whole  of  Europe,  disliked  duel- 
Hng  between  the  oflScers  of  his  army.  The  great 
military  emperor  was  not  a  swashbuckler,  and  had  little 
respect  for  tradition. 

Nevertheless,  a  story  of  duelling,  which  became  a 
legend  in  the  army,  runs  through  the  epic  of  imperial 
wars.  To  the  surprise  and  admiration  of  their  fellows, 
two  oflBcers,  like  insane  artists  trying  to  gild  refined  gold 
or  paint  the  lily,  pursued  a  private  contest  through 
the  years  of  universal  carnage.  They  were  officers  of 
cavalry,  and  their  connection  with  the  high-spirited  but 
fanciful  animal  which  carries  men  into  battle  seems 
particularly  appropriate.  It  would  be  difficult  to  im- 
agine for  heroes  of  this  legend  two  officers  of  infantry  of 
the  line,  for  example,  whose  fantasy  is  tamed  by  much 
walking  exercise,  and  whose  valour  necessarily  must  be 
of  a  more  plodding  kind.  As  to  gunners  or  engineers, 
whose  heads  are  kept  cool  on  a  diet  of  mathematics,  it 
is  simply  unthinkable. 

The  names  of   the   two   officers   were   Feraud   and 

201 


202  A  SET  OF  SIX 

D'Hubert,  and  they  were  both  heutenants  in  a  regi- 
ment of  hussars,  but  not  in  the  same  regiment. 

Feraud  was  doing  regimental  work,  but  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  attached  to  the 
person  of  the  general  commanding  the  division,  as 
ojfficier  d'ordonnance.  It  was  in  Strasbourg,  and  in  this 
agreeable  and  important  garrison  they  were  enjoying 
greatly  a  short  interval  of  peace.  They  were  enjoying 
it,  though  both  intensely  warlike,  because  it  was  a 
sword-sharpening,  firelock-cleaning  peace,  dear  to  a 
military  heart  and  undamaging  to  military  prestige, 
inasmuch  that  no  one  believed  in  its  sincerity  or  du- 
ration. 

Under  those  historical  circumstances,  so  favourable 
to  the  proper  appreciation  of  military  leisure.  Lieu- 
tenant D'Hubert,  one  fine  afternoon,  made  his  way 
along  a  quiet  street  of  a  cheerful  suburb  toward  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud's  quarters,  which  were  in  a  private  house 
with  a  garden  at  the  back,  belonging  to  an  old  maiden 
lady. 

His  knock  at  the  door  was  answered  instantly  by  a 
young  maid  in  Alsatian  costume.  Her  fresh  complexion 
and  her  long  eyelashes,  lowered  demurely  at  the  sight  of 
the  tall  officer,  caused  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  who  was 
accessible  to  esthetic  impressions,  to  relax  the  cold, 
severe  gravity  of  his  face.  At  the  same  time  he 
observed  that  the  girl  had  over  her  arm  a  pair  of  hussars 
breeches,  blue  with  a  red  stripe. 


THE  DUEL  203 

"Lieutenant  Feraud  in?"  he  inquired  benevolently. 

*'0h,  no,  sir!     He  went  out  at  six  this  morning." 

The  pretty  maid  tried  to  close  the  door.  Lieutenant 
D 'Hubert,  opposing  this  move  with  gentle  firmness, 
stepped  into  the  ante-room,  jingling  his  spurs. 

"Come,  my  dear!  You  don't  mean  to  say  he  has 
not  been  home  since  six  o'clock  this  morning?" 

Saying  these  words.  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  opened 
without  ceremony  the  door  of  a  room  so  comfortably 
and  neatly  ordered  that  only  from  internal  evidence  in 
the  shape  of  boots,  uniforms,  and  military  accoutre- 
ments did  he  acquire  the  conviction  that  it  was  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud's  room.  And  he  saw  also  that  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud  was  not  at  home.  The  truthful  maid 
had  followed  him,  and  raised  her  candid  eyes  to  his  face. 

**H'm!"  said  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  greatly  disap- 
pointed, for  he  had  already  visited  all  the  haunts 
where  a  lieutenant  of  hussars  could  be  found  of  a  fine 
afternoon.  "So  he's  out?  And  do  you  happen  to 
know,  my  dear,  why  he  went  out  at  six  this  morning?" 

"No,"  she  answered  readily.  "He  came  home  late 
last  night,  and  snored.  I  heard  him  when  I  got  up  at 
five.  Then  he  dressed  himself  in  his  oldest  uniform  and 
went  out.     Service,  I  suppose." 

"Service?  Not  a  bit  of  it!"  cried  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert.  "Learn,  my  angel,  that  he  went  out  thus 
early  to  fight  a  duel  with  a  civilian." 

She  heard  this  news  without  a  quiver  of  her  dark  eye- 


204  A  SET  OF  SIX 

lashes.  It  was  very  obvious  that  the  actions  of  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud  were  generally  above  criticism.  She 
only  looked  up  for  a  mon  ent  in  mute  surprise,  and 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert  concluded  from  this  absence  of 
emotion  that  she  must  have  seen  Lieutenant  Feraud 
since  that  morning.     He  looked  around  the  room. 

"Come!"  he  insisted,  with  confidential  familiarity. 
"He's  perhaps  somewhere  in  the  house  now?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

*'So  much  the  worse  for  him!"  continued  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert,  in  a  tone  of  anxious  conviction.  "But  he 
has  been  home  this  morning." 

This  time  the  pretty  maid  nodded  slightly. 

"He  has!"  cried  Lieutenant  D'Hubert.  "And  went 
out  again?  What  for?  Couldn't  he  keep  quietly  in- 
doors!    What  a  lunatic!     My  dear  girl " 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert's  natural  kindness  of  dispo- 
sition and  strong  sense  of  comradeship  helped  his  powers 
of  observation.  He  changed  his  tone  to  a  most  insinu- 
ating softness,  and,  gazing  at  the  hussars  breeches 
hanging  over  the  arm  of  the  girl,  he  appealed  to  the 
interest  she  took  in  Lieutenant  Feraud 's  comfort  and 
happiness.  He  was  pressing  and  persuasive.  He 
used  his  eyes,  which  were  kind  and  fine,  with  excellent 
efi'ect.  His  anxiety  to  get  hold  at  once  of  Lieutenant 
Feraud,  for  Lieutenant  Feraud 's  own  good,  seemed  so 
genuine  that  at  last  it  overcame  the  girl's  unwillingness 
to  speak.     Unluckily  she  had  not  much  to  tell.     Lieu- 


THE  DUEL  205 

tenant  Feraud  had  returned  home  shortly  before  ten, 
had  walked  straight  into  his  room,  and  had  thrown 
himself  on  his  bed  to  resume  his  slumbers.  She  had 
heard  him  snore  rather  louder  than  before  far  into  the 
afternoon.  Then  he  got  up,  put  on  his  best  uniform, 
and  went  out.     That  was  all  she  knew. 

She  raised  her  eyes,  and  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  stared 
into  them  incredulously. 

"It's  incredible!  Gone  parading  the  town  in  his  best 
uniform!  My  dear  child,  don't  you  know  he  ran  that 
civilian  through  this  morning?  Clean  through,  as  you 
spit  a  hare." 

The  pretty  maid  heard  the  gruesome  intelligence 
without  any  signs  of  distress.  But  she  pressed  her  lips 
together  thoughtfully. 

"He  isn't  parading  the  town,"  she  remarked  in  a  low 
tone.     "Far  from  it." 

"The  civilian's  family  is  making  an  awful  row,"  con- 
tinued Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  pursuing  his  train  of 
thought.  "And  the  general  is  very  angry.  It's  one  of 
the  best  families  in  the  town.  Feraud  ought  to  have 
kept  close  at  least " 

"What  will  the  general  do  to  him?"  inquired  the  girl 
anxiously. 

"He  won't  have  his  head  cut  ofiF,  to  be  sure,"  grumbled 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert.  "His  conduct  is  positively  in- 
decent. He's  making  no  end  of  trouble  for  himself  by 
this  sort  of  bravado." 


206  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"But  he  isn't  parading  the  town,"  the  maid  insisted 
in  a  shy  murmur. 

"Why,  yes!  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  haven't  seen  him 
anywhere  about.  What  on  earth  has  he  done  with 
himself?" 

"He's  gone  to  pay  a  call,"  suggested  the  maid,  after 
a  moment  of  silence. 

Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  started. 

"A  call!  Do  you  mean  a  call  on  a  lady?  The 
cheek  of  the  man!  And  how  do  you  know  this,  my 
dear?" 

Without  concealing  her  woman's  scorn  for  the  dense- 
ness  of  the  masculine  mind,  the  pretty  maid  reminded 
him  that  Lieutenant  Feraud  had  arrayed  himself  in  his 
best  uniform  before  going  out.  He  had  also  put  on  his 
newest  dolman,  she  added,  in  a  tone  as  if  this  conver- 
sation were  getting  on  her  nerves,  and  turned  away 
brusquely. 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  without  questioning  the  ac- 
curacy of  the  deduction,  did  not  see  that  it  advanced  him 
much  on  his  official  quest.  For  his  quest  after 
Lieutenant  Feraud  had  an  official  character.  He  did 
not  know  any  of  the  women  this  fellow,  who  had  run  a 
man  through  in  the  morning,  was  likely  to  visit  in  the 
afternoon.  The  two  young  men  knew  each  other  but 
slightly.     He  bit  his  gloved  finger  in  perplexity. 

"  Call ! "  he  exclaimed.     "  Call  on  the  devil ! " 

The  girl,   with  her  back  to  him,  and  folding  the 


THE  DUEL  207 

hussars  breeches  on  a  chair,  protested  with  a  vexed 
httle  laugh: 

"Oh,  dear,  no!     On  Madame  de  Lionne." 

Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  whistled  softly.  Madame  de 
Lionne  was  the  wife  of  a  high  official  who  had  a  well- 
knowTi  salon  and  some  pretensions  to  sensibility  and 
elegance.  The  husband  was  a  civilian,  and  old;  but  the 
society  of  the  salori  was  young  and  military.  Lieuten- 
ant D'Hubert  had  whistled,  not  because  the  idea  of 
pursuing  Lieutenant  Feraud  into  that  very  salon  was 
disagreeable  to  him,  but  because,  having  arrived  in 
Strasbourg  only  lately,  he  had  not  had  the  time  as  yet 
to  get  an  introduction  to  Madame  de  Lionne.  And 
what  was  that  swashbuckler  Feraud  doing  there,  he 
wondered.     He  did  not  seem  the  sort  of  man  who 

"Are  you  certain  of  what  you  say?"  asked  Lieuten- 
ant D'Hubert. 

The  girl  was  perfectly  certain.  Without  turning 
round  to  look  at  him,  she  explained  that  the  coachman 
of  their  next  door  neighbours  knew  the  maitre-d' hotel  of 
Madame  de  Lionne.  In  this  way  she  had  her  informa- 
tion. And  she  was  perfectly  certain.  In  giving  this 
assurance  she  sighed.  Lieutenant  Feraud  called  there 
nearly  every  afternoon,  she  added. 

*'Ah,  bah!"  exclaimed  D'Hubert  ironically.  His 
opinion  of  Madame  de  Lionne  went  down  several  de- 
grees. Lieutenant  Feraud  did  not  seem  to  him 
specially  worthy  of  attention  on  the  part  of  a  woman 


208  A  SET  OF  SIX 

with  a  reputation  for  sensibility  and  elegance.  But 
there  was  no  saying.  At  bottom  they  were  all  alike — 
very  practical  rather  than  idealistic.  Lieutenant  D'Hu- 
bert,  however,  did  not  allow  his  mind  to  dwell  on 
these  considerations. 

"By  thunder!"  he  reflected  aloud.  "The  General 
goes  there  sometimes.  If  he  happens  to  find  the  fellou" 
making  eyes  at  the  lady  there  will  be  the  devil  to  pay! 
Our  General  is  not  a  very  accommodating  person,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"Go  quickly,  then!  Don't  stand  here  now  I've  told 
you  where  he  is!"  cried  the  girl,  colouring  to  the  eyes. 

"Thanks,  my  dear!  I  don't  know  what  I  would 
have  done  without  you." 

After  manifesting  his  gratitude  in  an  aggressive  way, 
which  at  first  was  repulsed  violently,  and  then  submitted 
to  with  a  sudden  and  still  more  repellent  indifference, 
Lieutenant  D  'Hubert  took  his  departure. 

He  clanked  and  jingled  along  the  streets  with  a 
martial  swagger.  To  run  a  comrade  to  earth  in  a 
drawing-room  where  he  was  not  known  did  not  trouble 
him  in  the  least.  A  uniform  is  a  passport.  His 
position  as  officier  d'ordonnance  of  the  general  added  to 
his  assurance.  Moreover,  now  that  he  knew  where  to 
find  Lieutenant  Feraud,  he  had  no  option.  It  was  a 
service  matter. 

Madame  de  Lionne's  house  had  an  excellent  appear- 
ance.    A  man  in  livery,  opening  the  door  of  a  large 


THE  DUEL  209 

drawing-room  with  a  waxed  floor,  shouted  his  name 
and  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass.  It  was  a  reception  day. 
The  ladies  wore  big  hats  surcharged  with  a  profusion  of 
feathers;  their  bodies,  sheathed  in  clinging  white  gowns 
from  the  armpits  to  the  tips  of  the  low  satin  shoes, 
looked  sylphlike  and  cool  in  a  great  display  of  bare 
necks  and  arms.  The  men  who  talked  with  them,  on 
the  contrary,  were  arrayed  heavily  in  multi-coloured 
garments  with  collars  up  to  their  ears  and  thick  sashes 
round  their  waists.  Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  made  his 
unabashed  way  across  the  room  and,  bowing  low  be- 
fore a  sylphlike  form  reclining  on  a  couch,  offered  his 
apologies  for  this  intrusion,  which  nothing  could  excuse 
but  the  extreme  urgency  of  the  service  order  he  had  to 
communicate  to  his  comrade  Feraud.  He  proposed  to 
himself  to  return  presently  in  a  more  regular  manner 
and  beg  forgiveness  for  interrupting  the  interesting 
conversation     .     .     . 

A  bare  arm  was  extended  toward  him  with  gracious 
nonchalance  even  before  he  had  finished  speaking.  He 
pressed  the  hand  respectfully  to  his  lips,  and  made  the 
mental  remark  that  it  was  bony.  Madame  de  Lionne 
was  a  blonde,  with  too  fine  a  skin  and  a  long  face. 

"C'est  ga!"  she  said,  with  an  ethereal  smile,  disclos- 
ing a  set  of  large  teeth.  "Come  this  evening  to  plead 
for  your  forgiveness." 

"I  will  not  fail,  madame." 

Meantime  Lieutenant  Feraud,  splendid  in  his  new 


210  A  SET  OF  SIX 

dolman  and  the  extremely  polished  boots  of  his  calling, 
sat  on  a  chair  within  a  foot  of  the  couch,  one  hand  rest- 
ing on  his  thigh,  the  other  twirling  his  moustache  to  a 
point.  At  a  significant  glance  from  D 'Hubert  he  rose 
without  alacrity,  and  followed  him  into  the  recess  of  a 
window. 

"What  is  it  you  want  with  me.^"  he  asked,  with 
astonishing  indifference.  Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  could 
not  imagine  that  in  the  innocence  of  his  heart  and  sim- 
plicity of  his  conscience  Lieutenant  Feraud  took  a  view 
of  his  duel  in  which  neither  remorse  nor  yet  a  rational 
apprehension  of  consequences  had  any  place.  Though  he 
had  no  clear  recollection  how  the  quarrel  had  originated 
(it  was  begun  in  an  establishment  where  beer  and  wine 
are  drunk  late  at  night),  he  had  not  the  slightest  doubt 
of  being  himself  the  outraged  party.  He  had  had  two 
experienced  friends  for  his  seconds.  Ever;yi:hing  had 
been  done  according  to  the  rules  governing  that  sort  of 
adventures.  And  a  duel  is  obviously  fought  for  the 
purpose  of  some  one  being  at  least  hurt,  if  not  killed 
outright.  The  civilian  got  hurt.  That  also  was  in 
order.  Lieutenant  Feraud  was  perfectly  tranquil;  but 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert  took  it  for  affectation,  and  spoke 
with  a  certain  vivacity. 

"I  am  directed  by  the  General  to  give  you  the  order 
to  go  at  once  to  your  quarters,  and  remain  there  imder 
close  arrest." 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  Lieutenant  Feraud  to  be 


THE  DUEL  211 

astonished.  "What  the  devil  are  you  telling  me  there?" 
he  murmured  faintly,  and  fell  into  such  profound  wonder 
that  he  could  only  follow  mechanically  the  motions  of 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert.  The  two  officers,  one  tall,  with 
an  interesting  face  and  moustache  the  colour  of  ripe 
corn,  the  other  short  and  sturdy,  with  a  hooked  nose 
and  a  thick  crop  of  black  curly  hair,  approached  the 
mistress  of  the  house  to  take  their  leave.  Madame  de 
Lionne,  a  wom^an  of  eclectic  taste,  smiled  upon  these 
armed  young  men  with  impartial  sensibility  and  an 
equal  share  of  interest.  Madame  de  Lionne  took  her 
delight  in  the  infinite  variety  of  the  human  species.  All 
the  other  eyes  in  the  drawing-room  followed  the  de- 
parting officers ;  and  when  they  had  gone  out  one  or  two 
men,  who  had  already  heard  of  the  duel,  imparted  the 
information  to  the  sylphlike  ladies,  who  received  it 
with  faint  shrieks  of  humane  concern. 

Meantime  the  two  hussars  walked  side  by  side.  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud  trying  to  master  the  hidden  reason  of 
things  which  in  this  instance  eluded  the  grasp  of  his  in- 
tellect; Lieutenant  D'Hubert  feeling  annoyed  at  the 
part  he  had  to  play,  because  the  general's  instructions 
were  that  he  should  see  personally  that  Lieutenant  Fer- 
aud carried  out  his  orders  to  the  letter,  and  at  once. 

"The  chief  seems  to  know  this  animal,"  he  thought, 
eying  his  companion,  whose  round  face,  the  round  eyes, 
and  even  the  twisted-up  jet  black  little  moustache 
seemed  animated  by  a  mental  exasperation  against  the 


212  A  SET  OF  SIX 

incomprehensible.  And  aloud  he  observed  rather  re- 
proachfully, "The  General  is  in  a  devilish  fury  with  you !" 

Lieutenant  Feraud  stopped  short  on  the  edge  of  the 
pavement,  and  cried  in  the  accents  of  unmistakable 
sincerity,  "What  on  earth  for?"  The  innocence  of  the 
fiery  Gascon  soul  was  depicted  in  the  manner  in  which 
he  seized  his  head  in  both  hands  as  if  to  prevent  it 
bursting  with  perplexity. 

"For  the  duel,"  said  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  curtly. 
He  was  annoyed  gi*eatly  at  this  sort  of  perverse  fooling. 

"The  duel!    The     .     .     ." 

Lieutenant  Feraud  passed  from  one  paroxysm  of 
astonishment  into  another.  He  dropped  his  hands  and 
walked  on  slowly,  trying  to  reconcile  this  information 
with  the  state  of  his  own  feelings.  It  was  impossible. 
He  burst  out  indignantly,  "Was  I  to  let  that  sauer- 
kraut-eating civilian  wipe  his  boots  on  the  uniform  of 
the  Seventh  Hussars." 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  could  not  remain  altogether  un- 
moved by  that  simple  sentiment.  This  little  fellow  was 
a  lunatic,  he  thought  to  himself,  but  there  was  something 
in  what  he  said. 

"Of  course  I  don't  know  how  far  you  were  justified," 
he  began  soothingly.  "And  the  General  himself  may 
not  be  exactly  informed.  Those  people  have  been 
deafening  him  with  their  lamentations." 

"Ah!  the  General  is  not  exactly  informed,"  mumbled 
Lieutenant  Feraud,   walldng  faster  and  faster  as  his 


THE  DUEL  213 

choler  at  the  injustice  of  his  fate  began  to  rise.  "He 
is  not  exactly  .  ,  .  And  he  orders  me  under  close 
arrest,  with  God  knows  what  afterward!" 

"Don't  excite  yourself  like  this,"  remonstrated  the 
other.  "Your  adversary's  people  are  very  influential, 
you  know,  and  it  looks  bad  enough  on  the  face  of  it. 
The  General  had  to  take  notice  of  their  complaint  at 
once.  I  don't  think  he  means  to  be  over-severe  with 
you.  It's  the  best  thing  for  you  to  be  kept  out  of  sight 
for  a  while." 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  the  General,"  muttered 
Lieutenant  Feraud  through  his  teeth.  "And  perhaps 
you  would  say  I  ought  to  be  grateful  to  you,  too,  for  the 
trouble  you  have  taken  to  hunt  me  up  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  a  lady  who " 

"Frankly,"  interrupted  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  with 
an  innocent  laugh,  "I  think  you  ought  to  be.  I  had  no 
end  of  trouble  to  find  out  where  you  were.  It  wasn't 
exactly  the  place  for  you  to  disport  yourself  in  under 
the  circumstances.  If  the  General  had  caught  you  there 
making  eyes  at  the  goddess  of  the  temple  .  .  . 
oh,  my  word!  ...  He  hates  to  be  bothered  with 
complaints  against  his  oflScers,  you  know.  And  it 
looked  uncommonly  like  sheer  bravado." 

The  two  officers  had  arrived  now  at  the  street  door 
of  Lieutenant  Feraud's  lodgings.  The  latter  turned 
toward  his  companion.  "Lieutenant  D'Hubert,"  he 
said,  "I  have  something  to  say  to  you  which  can't  be 


214  A  SET  OF  SIX 

said  very  well  in  the  street.  You  can't  refuse  to  come 
up." 

The  pretty  maid  had  opened  the  door.  Lieutenant 
Feraud  brushed  past  her  brusquely,  and  she  raised  her 
scared  and  questioning  eyes  to  Lieutenant  D'Hubert, 
who  could  do  nothing  but  shrug  his  shoulders  slightly 
as  he  followed  with  marked  reluctance. 

In  his  room  Lieutenant  Feraud  unhooked  the  clasp, 
flung  his  new  dolman  on  the  bed,  and,  folding  his  arms 
across  his  chest,  turned  to  the  other  hussar. 

"Do  you  imagine  I  am  a  man  to  submit  tamely  to 
injustice?"  he  inquired  in  a  boisterous  voice. 

"Oh,  do  be  reasonable!"  remonstrated  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert. 

*'I  am  reasonable!  I  am  perfectly  reasonable!" 
retorted  the  other  with  ominous  restraint.  "I  can't 
call  the  General  to  account  for  his  behaviour,  but  you 
are  goi:i^'  to  answer  to  me  for  yours." 

"I  can't  listen  to  this  nonsense,"  murmured  Lieuten- 
ant D'Hubert,  making  a  slightly  contemptuous  grimace. 

"You  call  this  nonsense.''  It  seems  to  me  a  perfectly 
plain  statement .     Unless  you  don't  understand  French." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean.''" 

"I  mean,"  screamed  suddenly  Lieutenant  Feraud, 
"to  cut  off  your  ears  to  teach  you  to  disturb  me  with 
the  General's  orders  when  I  am  talking  to  a  lady!" 

A  profound  silence  followed  this  mad  declaration; 
and  through  the  open  window  Lieutenant  D'Hubert 


THE  DUEL  215 

heard  the  Httle  birds  singing  sanely  in  the  garden.  He 
said,  preserving  his  calm,  "Why!  If  you  take  that 
tone,  of  course  I  shall  hold  myself  at  your  disposition 
whenever  you  are  at  liberty  to  attend  to  this  affair;  but 
I  don't  think  you  will  cut  my  ears  off." 

*'I  am  going  to  attend  to  it  at  once,"  declared  Lieuten- 
ant Feraud,  with  extreme  truculence.  "If  you  are 
thinking  of  displaying  your  airs  and  graces  to-night  in 
Madame  de  Lionne's  salon  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken." 

"Really!"  said  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  who  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  irritated,  "  you  are  an  impracticable  sort  of 
fellow.  The  General's  orders  to  me  were  to  put  you 
imder  arrest,  not  to  carve  you  into  small  pieces.  Good- 
morning!"  And  turning  his  back  on  the  little  Gascon, 
who,  always  sober  in  his  potations,  was  as  though  born 
intoxicated  with  the  sunshine  of  his  vine-ripening 
country,  the  Northman,  who  could  drink  hard  on 
occasion,  but  was  born  sober  under  the  watery  skies  of 
Picardy,  made  for  the  door.  Hearing,  however,  the 
unmistakable  sound  behind  his  back  of  a  sword  drawn 
from  the  scabbard,  he  had  no  option  but  to  stop. 

"Devil  take  this  mad  Southerner!"  he  thought,  spin- 
ning round  and  surveying  with  composure  the  warlike 
posture  of  Lieutenant  Feraud,  with  a  bare  sword  in  his 
hand. 

"At  once — at  once!"  stuttered  Feraud,  beside  him- 
self. 


21G  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"You  had  my  answer,"  said  the  other,  keeping  his 
temper  very  well. 

At  first  he  had  been  only  vexed,  and  somewhat 
amused;  but  now  his  face  got  clouded.  He  was  asking 
himself  seriously  how  he  could  manage  to  get  away.  It 
was  impossible  to  run  from  a  man  with  a  sword,  and  as 
to  fighting  him,  it  seemed  completely  out  of  the  question. 
He  waited  a  while,  then  said  exactly  what  was  in  his 
heart. 

"Drop  this!  I  won't  fight  with  you.  I  won't  be 
made  ridiculous." 

*'Ah,  you  won't.^^"  hissed  the  Gascon.  "I  suppose 
you  prefer  to  be  made  infamous.  Do  you  hear  what  I 
say.''  .  .  .  Infamous!  Infamous!  Infamous!"  he 
shrieked,  rising  and  falling  on  his  toes  and  getting  very 
red  in  the  face. 

Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  on  the  contrary  became  very 
pale  at  tlie  sound  of  the  unsavoury  word  for  a  moment, 
then  flushed  pink  to  the  roots  of  his  fair  hair.  "But 
you  can't  go  out  to  fight;  you  are  under  arrest,  you 
lunatic!"  he  objected,  with  angry  scorn. 

"There's  the  garden:  it's  big  enough  to  lay  out  your 
long  carcass  in,"  spluttered  the  other,  with  such  ardour 
that  somehow  the  anger  of  the  cooler  man  subsided. 

"This  is  perfectly  absurd,"  he  said,  glad  enough  to 
think  he  had  found  a  way  out  of  it  for  the  moment. 
"We  shall  never  get  any  of  our  comrades  to  serve  as 
seconds.    It's  preposterous." 


THE  DUEL  217 

"Seconds!  Damn  the  seconds!  We  don't  want 
any  seconds.  Don't  you  worry  about  any  seconds.  I 
shall  send  word  to  your  friends  to  come  and  bury  you 
when  I  am  done.  And  if  you  want  any  witnesses, 
I'U  send  word  to  the  old  girl  to  put  her  head  out  of 
a  window  at  the  back.  Stay!  There's  the  gardener. 
He'll  do.  He's  as  deaf  as  a  post,  but  he  has  two  eyes 
in  his  head.  Come  along!  I  will  teach  you,  my  staff 
officer,  that  the  carrying  about  of  a  general's  orders  is 
not  always  child's  play." 

WTiile  thus  discoursing  he  had  unbuckled  his  empty 
scabbard.  He  sent  it  flying  under  the  bed,  and,  lower- 
ing the  point  of  the  sword,  brushed  past  the  perplexed 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  exclaiming,  "Follow  me!"  Di- 
rectly he  had  flung  open  the  door  a  faint  shriek  was 
heard,  and  the  pretty  maid,  who  had  been  listening  at 
the  keyhole,  staggered  aw^ay,  putting  the  backs  of  her 
hands  over  her  eyes.  Feraud  did  not  seem  to  see  her, 
but  she  ran  after  him  and  seized  his  left  arm.  He  shook 
her  off,  and  then  she  rushed  toward  Lieutenant  D'Hu- 
bert and  clawed  at  the  sleeve  of  his  uniform. 

"Wretched  man!"  she  sobbed.  "Is  this  what  you 
wanted  to  find  him  for.f* " 

"Let  me  go,"  entreated  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  trying 
to  disengage  himself  gently.  "It's  like  being  in  a  mad- 
house," he  protested,  with  exasperation.  "Do  let  me 
go!     I  won't  do  him  any  harm." 

A  fiendish  laugh  from  Lieutenant  Feraud  commented 


218  A  SET  OF  SIX 

that  assui-ance.  "Come  along!"  he  shouted,  with  a 
stamp  of  his  foot. 

And  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  did  follow.  He  could  do 
nothing  else.  Yet  in  vindication  of  his  sanity  it  must 
be  recorded  that  as  he  passed  through  the  anteroom 
the  notion  of  opening  the  street  door  and  bolting  out 
presented  itself  to  this  brave  youth,  only  of  course  to  be 
instantly  dismissed,  for  he  felt  sure  that  the  other  would 
pursue  him  without  shame  or  compunction.  And  the 
prospect  of  an  officer  of  hussars  being  chased  along  the 
street  by  another  officer  of  hussars  with  a  naked  sword 
could  not  be  for  a  moment  entertained.  Therefore  he 
followed  into  the  garden.  Behind  them  the  girl  tot- 
tered out,  too.  .With  ashy  lips  and  wild  scared  eyes, 
she  surrendered  herself  to  a  dreadful  curiosity.  She 
had  also  the  notion  of  rushing  if  need  be  between  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud  and  death. 

The  deaf  gardener,  utterly  unconscious  of  approach- 
ing footsteps,  went  on  watering  his  flowers  till  Lieuten- 
ant Feraud  thumped  him  on  the  back.  Beholding 
suddenly  an  enraged  man  flourishing  a  big  sabre,  the 
old  chap  trembling  in  all  his  limbs  dropped  the  watering- 
pot.  At  once  Lieutenant  Feraud  kicked  it  away  with 
great  animosity,  and,  seizing  the  gardener  by  the  throat, 
backed  him  against  a  tree.  He  held  him  there,  shout- 
ing in  his  ear,  "Stay  here,  and  look  on!  You  under- 
stand? You've  got  to  look  on!  Don't  dare  budge 
from  the  spot!" 


THE  DUEL  219 

Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  came  slowly  down  the  walk,  un- 
clasping his  dolman  with  unconcealed  disgust.  Even 
then,  with  his  hand  already  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  he 
hesitated  to  draw  till  a  roar,  "En  garde,  fichtre.  WTiat 
do  you  think  you  came  here  for?"  and  the  rush  of  his 
adversary  forced  him  to  put  himself  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible in  a  posture  of  defence. 

The  clash  of  arms  filled  that  prim  garden,  which 
hitherto  had  known  no  more  warlike  sound  than  the 
click  of  clipping  shears;  and  presently  the  upper  part  of 
an  old  lady's  body  was  projected  out  of  a  window  up- 
stairs. She  tossed  her  arms  above  her  white  cap, 
scolding  in  a  cracked  voice.  The  gardener  remained 
glued  to  the  tree,  his  toothless  mouth  open  in  idiotic 
astonishment,  and  a  little  farther  up  the  path  the  pretty 
girl,  as  if  spellbound  to  a  small  grass  plot,  ran  a  few 
steps  this  way  and  that,  WTinging  her  hands  and  mutter- 
ing crazily.  She  did  not  rush  between  the  combatants: 
the  onslaughts  of  Lieutenant  Feraud  were  so  fierce  that 
her  heart  failed  her.  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  his  facul- 
ties concentrated  upon  defence,  needed  all  his  skill  and 
science  of  the  sword  to  stop  the  rushes  of  his  adversary. 
Twice  already  he  had  to  break  ground.  It  bothered 
him  to  feel  his  foothold  made  insecure  by  the  round, 
dry  gravel  of  the  path  rolling  under  the  hard  soles  of 
his  boots.  This  was  most  unsuitable  ground,  he  thought, 
keeping  a  watchful,  narrowed  gaze,  shaded  by  long 
eyelashes,  upon  the  fiery  stare  of  his  thick-set  adver- 


220  A  SET  OF  SIX 

sary.  This  absurd  affair  would  ruin  his  reputation 
of  a  sensible,  well-behaved,  promising  young  oflBcer. 
It  would  damage  at  any  rate  his  immediate  prospects, 
and  lose  him  the  good-will  of  his  general.  These 
worldly  preoccupations  were  no  doubt  misplaced  in 
view  of  the  solemnity  of  the  moment.  A  duel,  whether 
regarded  as  a  ceremony  in  the  cult  of  honour,  or  even 
when  reduced  in  its  moral  essence  to  a  form  of  manly 
sport,  demands  a  perfect  singleness  of  intention,  a 
homicidal  austerity  of  mood.  On  the  other  hand,  this 
vivid  concern  for  his  future  had  not  a  bad  effect  inas- 
much as  it  began  to  rouse  the  anger  of  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert.  Some  seventy  seconds  had  elapsed  since 
they  had  crossed  blades,  and  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  had 
to  break  ground  again  in  order  to  avoid  impaling  his 
reckless  adversary  like  a  beetle  for  a  cabinet  of  speci- 
mens. The  result  was  that,  misapprehending  the  mo- 
tive, Lieutenant  Feraud  with  a  triumphant  sort  of 
snarl  pressed  his  attack. 

"This  enraged  animal  will  have  me  against  the  wall 
directly,"  thought  Lieutenant  D'Hubert.  He  imag- 
ined himself  much  closer  to  the  house  than  he  was,  and 
he  dared  not  turn  his  head;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  keeping  his  adversary  off  with  his  eyes  rather 
more  than  with  his  point.  Lieutenant  Feraud  crouched 
and  bounded  with  a  fierce  tigerish  agility  fit  to  trouble 
the  stoutest  heart.  But  what  was  more  appalling 
than  the  fury  of  a  wild  beast,  accomplishing  in   all 


THE  DUEL  221 

innocence  of  heart  a  natural  function,  was  the  fixity 
of  savage  purpose  man  alone  is  capable  of  displaying. 
Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  in  the  midst  of  his  worldly  pre- 
occupations perceived  it  at  last.  It  was  an  absurd 
and  damaging  affair  to  be  drawn  into,  but  whatever 
silly  intention  the  fellow  had  started  with,  it  was  clear 
enough  that  by  this  time  he  meant  to  kill — nothing 
less.  He  meant  it  with  an  intensity  of  will  utterly 
beyond  the  inferior  faculties  of  a  tiger. 

As  is  the  case  with  constitutionally  brave  men,  the 
full  view  of  the  danger  interested  Lieutenant  D'Hubert. 
And  directly  he  got  properly  interested,  the  length  of 
his  arm  and  the  coolness  of  his  head  told  in  his  favour. 
It  was  the  turn  of  Lieutenant  Feraud  to  recoil,  with  a 
bloodcurdling  grunt  of  baffled  rage.  He  made  a  swift 
feint,  and  then  rushed  straight  forward. 

"Ah!  you  would,  would  you.''"  Lieutenant  D'Hubert 
exclaimed  mentally.  The  combat  had  lasted  nearlj^ 
two  minutes, time  enough  for  any  man  to  get  embittered, 
apart  from  the  merits  of  the  quarrel.  And  all  at  once 
it  was  over.  Trying  to  close  breast  to  breast  under 
his  adversary's  guard,  Lieutenant  Feraud  received  a 
slash  on  his  shortened  arm.  He  did  not  feel  it  in  the 
least,  but  it  checked  his  rush,  and  his  feet  slipping  on 
the  gravel  he  fell  backward  with  great  violence.  The 
shock  jarred  his  boiling  brain  into  the  perfect  quietude 
of  insensibility.  Simultaneously  with  his  fall  the  pretty 
servant-girl  shrieked;  but  the  old  maiden  lady  at  the 


222  A  SET  OF  SIX 

window  ceased  her  scolding,  and  began  to  cross  herself 
piously. 

Beholding  his  adversary  stretched  out  perfectly  still, 
his  face  to  the  sky,  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  thought  he  had 
killed  him  outright.  The  impression  of  having  slashed 
hard  enough  to  cut  his  man  clean  in  two  abode  with 
him  for  a  while  in  an  exaggerated  memory  of  the  right 
good  will  he  had  put  into  the  blow.  He  dropped  on 
his  knees  hastily  by  the  side  of  the  prostrate  body. 
Discovering  that  not  even  the  arm  was  severed,  a 
slight  sense  of  disappointment  mingled  with  the  feeling 
of  relief.  The  fellow  deserved  the  worst.  But  truly  he 
did  not  want  the  death  of  that  sinner.  The  afiPair  was 
ugly  enough  as  it  stood,  and  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  ad- 
dressed himseK  at  once  to  the  task  of  stopping  the 
bleeding.  In  this  task  it  was  his  fate  to  be  ridiculously 
impeded  by  the  pretty  maid.  Rending  the  air  with 
screams  of  horror,  she  attacked  him  from  behind  and, 
twining  her  fingers  in  his  hair,  tugged  back  at  his  head. 
Why  she  should  choose  to  hinder  him  at  this  precise 
moment  he  could  not  in  the  least  understand.  He  did 
not  try.  It  was  all  like  a  very  wicked  and  harassing 
dream.  Twice  to  save  himself  from  being  pulled  over 
he  had  to  rise  and  fling  her  off.  He  did  this  stoically, 
without  a  word,  kneehng  down  again  at  once  to  go  on 
with  his  work.  But  the  third  time,  his  work  being 
done,  he  seized  her  and  held  her  arms  pinned  to  her 
body.     Her  cap  was  half  off,  her  face  was  red,  her  eyes 


THE  DUEL  223 

blazed  with  crazy  boldness.  He  looked  mildly  into 
them  while  she  called  him  a  wretch,  a  traitor,  and  a 
murderer  many  times  in  succession.  This  did  not 
annoy  him  so  much  as  the  conviction  that  she  had 
managed  to  scratch  his  face  abundantly.  Ridicule 
would  be  added  to  the  scandal  of  the  story.  He  im- 
agined the  adorned  tale  making  its  way  through  the 
garrison  of  the  toA;vTi,  through  the  whole  army  on  the 
frontier,  with  every  possible  distortion  of  motive  and 
sentiment  and  circumstance,  spreading  a  doubt  upon 
the  sanity  of  his  conduct  and  the  distinction  of  his 
taste  even  to  the  very  ears  of  his  honourable  family. 
It  was  all  very  well  for  that  fellow  Feraud,  who  had  no 
connections,  no  family  to  speak  of,  and  no  quality  but 
courage,  which,  anyhow,  was  a  matter  of  course,  and 
possessed  by  every  single  trooper  in  the  whole  mass  of 
French  cavalry.  Still  holding  down  the  arms  of  the 
girl  in  a  strong  grip,  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  glanced  over 
his  shoulder.  Lieutenant  Feraud  had  opened  his  eyes. 
He  did  not  move.  Like  a  man  just  waking  from  a 
deep  sleep  he  stared  without  any  expression  at  the 
evening  sky. 

Lieutenant  D 'Hubert's  urgent  shouts  to  the  old 
gardener  produced  no  effect — not  so  much  as  to  make 
him  shut  his  toothless  mouth.  Then  he  remembered 
that  the  man  was  stone  deaf..  All  that  time  the  girl 
struggled,  not  with  maidenly  coyness,  but  like  a  pretty 
dumb  fury,  kicking  his  shins  now  and  then.     He  con- 


224  A  SET  OF  SIX 

tinued  to  hold  her  as  if  in  a  vise,  his  instinct  teUing  him 
ihat  were  he  to  let  her  go  she  would  fly  at  his  eyes. 
But  he  was  greatly  humiliated  by  his  position.  At  last 
she  gave  up.  She  was  more  exhausted  than  appeased 
he  feared.  Nevertheless,  he  attempted  to  get  out  of 
this  wicked  dream  by  way  of  negotiation. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  as  calmly  as  he  could. 
"Will  you  promise  to  run  for  a  surgeon  if  I  let  you  go?" 

With  real  affliction  he  heard  her  declare  that  she 
would  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  On  the  contrary,  her 
sobbed  out  intention  was  to  remain  in  the  garden,  and 
fight  tooth  and  nail  for  the  protection  of  the  vanquished 
man.     This  was  shocking. 

"My  dear  child!"  he  cried  in  despair,  *'is  it  possible 
that  you  think  me  capable  of  murdering  a  wounded 
adversary.^  Is  it  ....  Be  quiet,  you  little  wild- 
cat, you!" 

They  struggled.  A  thick,  drowsy  voice  said  behind 
him,  "Wliat  are  you  after  with  that  girl.^" 

Lieutenant  Feraud  had  raised  himself  on  his  good 
arm.  He  was  looking  sleepily  at  his  other  arm,  at  the 
mess  of  blood  on  his  uniform,  at  a  small  red  pool  on  the 
.ground,  at  his  sabre  lying  a  foot  away  on  the  path.  Then 
he  laid  himself  down  gently  again  to  think  it  all  out,  as 
far  as  a  thundering  headache  would  permit  of  mental 
operations. 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  released  the  girl,  who  crouched 
at  once  by  the  side  of  the  other  lieutenant.     The  shades 


THE  DUEL  225 

of  night  were  falling  on  the  little  trim  garden  with  this 
touching  group,  whence  proceeded  low  murmurs  of 
sorrow  and  compassion,  with  other  feeble  sounds  of  a 
diflFerent  character,  as  if  an  imperfectly  awake  invalid 
were  trying  to  swear.  Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  went 
away. 

He  passed  through  the  silent  house,  and  congratu" 
lated  himself  upon  the  dusk  concealing  his  gory  hands 
and  scratched  face  from  the  passers-by.  But  this  story 
could  by  no  means  be  concealed.  He  dreaded  the 
discredit  and  ridicule  above  everything,  and  was  pain- 
fully aware  of  sneaking  through  the  back  streets  in 
the  manner  of  a  murderer.  Presently  the  sounds  of 
a  flute  coming  out  of  the  open  window  of  a  lighted 
upstairs  room  in  a  modest  house  interrupted  his  dismal 
reflections.  It  was  being  played  with  a  persevering 
virtuosity,  and  through  the  fioritures  of  the  time  one 
could  hear  the  regular  thumping  of  the  foot  beating 
time  on  the  floor. 

Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  shouted  a  name,  which  was 
that  of  an  army  surgeon  whom  he  knew  fairly  well.  The 
sounds  of  the  flute  ceased,  and  the  musician  appeared 
at  the  window,  his  instrument  still  in  his  hand,  peering 
into  the  street. 

"Who  calls?  You,  D'Hubert?  WTiat  brings  you 
this  way?" 

He  did  not  hke  to  be  disturbed  at  the  hour  when  he 
was  playing  the  flute.     He  was  a  man  whose  hair  had 


226  A  SET  OF  SIX 

turned  gray  already  in  the  thankless  task  of  tying  up 
wounds  on  battlefields  where  others  reaped  advance- 
ment and  glory. 

**I  want  you  to  go  at  once  and  see  Feraud.  You 
know  Lieutenant  Feraud?  He  lives  down  the  second 
street.     It's  but  a  step  from  here." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"Wounded." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Sure!"  cried  D'Hubert.     "I  come  from  there.'* 

"That's  amusing,"  said  the  elderly  surgeon.  Amus- 
ing was  his  favourite  word;  but  the  expression  of  his 
face  when  he  pronounced  it  never  corresponded.  He 
was  a  stolid  man.  "Come  in,"  he  added.  "I'll  get 
ready  in  a  moment." 

"Thanks!  I  will.  I  want  to  wash  my  hands  in 
your  room." 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  found  the  surgeon  occupied  in 
unscrewing  his  flute,  and  packing  the  pieces  methodi- 
cally in  a  case.     He  turned  his  head. 

"Water  there — in  the  corner.  Your  hands  do  want 
washing." 

"I've  stopped  the  bleeding,"  said  Lieutenant  D'Hu- 
bert. "But  you  had  better  make  haste.  It's  rather 
more  than  ten  minutes  ago,  you  know." 

The  surgeon  did  not  hurry  his  movements. 

"What's  the  matter?  Dressing  came  off?  That's 
amusing.    I*ve  been  at  work  in  the  hospital  all  day,  but 


THE  DUEL  227 

I've  been  told  this  morning  by  somebody  that  he  had 
come  off  without  a  scratch." 

"Not  the  same  duel  probably,"  growled  moodily 
Lieutenant  D 'Hubert,  wiping  his  hands  on  a  coarse 
towel. 

"Not  the  same.  .  .  .  What?  Another.  It 
would  take  the  very  devil  to  make  me  go  out  twice  in 
one  day."  The  surgeon  looked  narrowly  at  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert.  "How  did  you  come  by  that  scratched 
face?  Both  sides,  too — and  symmetrical.    It's  amusing." 

"Very!"  snarled  Lieutenant  D'Hubert.  "And  you 
will  find  his  slashed  arm  amusing,  too.  It  will  keep 
both  of  you  amused  for  quite  a  long  time." 

The  doctor  was  mystified  and  impressed  by  the 
brusque  bitterness  of  Lieutenant  D'Hubert's  tone. 
They  left  the  house  together,  and  in  the  street  he  was 
still  more  mystified  by  his  conduct. 

"Aren't  you  coming  with  me?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Lieutenant  D'Hubert.  "You  can  find 
the  house  by  yourself.  The  front  door  will  be  standing 
open  very  likely." 

"All  right.     WTiere's  his  room?" 

"  Ground  floor.  But  you  had  better  go  right  through 
and  look  in  the  garden  first." 

This  astonishing  piece  of  information  made  the 
surgeon  go  off  without  further  parley.  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert  regained  his  quarters  nursing  a  hot  and  un- 
easy indignation.     He  dreaded  the  chaff  of  his  com- 


228  A  SET  OF  SIX 

rades  almost  as  much  as  the  anger  of  his  superiors. 
The  truth  was  confoundedly  grotesque  and  embarrass- 
ing, even  putting  aside  the  irregularity  of  the  combat 
itself,  which  made  it  come  abominably  near  a  criminal 
offence.  Like  all  men  without  much  imagination,  a 
faculty  which  helps  the  processes  of  reflective  thought. 
Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  became  frightfully  harassed  by 
the  obvious  aspects  of  his  predicament.  He  was  cer- 
tainly glad  that  he  had  not  killed  Lieutenant  Feraud 
outside  all  rules,  and  without  the  regular  witnesses 
proper  to  such  a  transaction.  Uncommonly  glad.  At 
the  same  time  he  felt  as  though  he  would  have  liked 
to  wring  his  neck  for  him  without  ceremony. 

He  was  still  under  the  sway  of  these  contradictory 
sentiments  when  the  surgeon  amateur  of  the  flute  came 
to  see  him.  More  than  three  days  had  elapsed.  Lieu- 
tenant D'Hubert  was  no  longer  officier  d'ordonnance  to 
the  general  commanding  the  division.  He  had  been 
sent  back  to  his  regiment.  And  he  was  resuming  his 
connection  with  the  soldiers'  military  family  by  being 
shut  up  in  close  confinement,  not  at  his  own  quarters 
in  town,  but  in  a  room  in  the  barracks.  Owing  to  the 
gravity  of  the  incident,  he  was  forbidden  to  see  any  one. 
He  did  not  know  what  had  happened,  what  was  being 
said,  or  what  was  being  thought.  The  arrival  of  the 
surgeon  was  a  most  unexpected  thing  to  the  worried 
captive.  The  amateur  of  the  flute  began  by  explaining 
that  he  was  there  only  by  a  special  favour  of  the  colonel. 


THE  DUEL  229 

"I  represented  to  him  that  it  would  be  only  fair  to 
let  you  have  some  authentic  news  of  your  adversary," 
he  continued.  "You'll  be  glad  to  hear  he's  getting 
better  fast." 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert's  face  exhibited  no  conventional 
signs  of  gladness.  He  continued  to  walk  the  floor  of 
the  dusty  bare  room. 

"Take  this  chair,  Doctor,"  he  mumbled. 

The  doctor  sat  down. 

"This  affair  is  variously  appreciated — in  town  and  in 
the  army.     In  fact,  the  diversity  of  opinions  is  amusing.  '* 

"Is  it.'*"  mumbled  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  tramping 
steadily  from  wall  to  wall.  But  within  himself  he 
marvelled  that  there  could  be  two  opinions  on  the 
matter.     The  surgeon  continued: 

"Of  course,  as  the  real  facts  are  not  known " 

"I  should  have  thought," interrupted  D'Hubert,  "that 
the  fellow  would  have  put  you  in  possession  of  the  facts," 

"He  said  something,"  admitted  the  other,  "the  first 
time  I  saw  him.  And,  by  the  by,  I  did  find  him  in  the 
garden.  The  thump  on  the  back  of  his  head  had  made 
him  a  little  incoherent  then.  Afterward  he  was  rather 
reticent  than  otherwise." 

"Didn't  think  he  would  have  the  grace  to  be 
ashamed!"  mumbled  D'Hubert,  resuming  his  pacing^ 
while  the  doctor  murmured:  "It's  very  amusing. 
Ashamed!  Shame  was  not  exactly  his  frame  of  mind. 
However,  you  may  look  at  the  matter  otherwise," 


230  A  SET  OF  STX 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  Wliat  matter?" 
asked  D'Hubert,  with  a  sidelong  look  at  the  heavy- 
faced,  gray-haired  figure  seated  on  a  wooden  chair. 

"Whatever  it  is,"  said  the  surgeon  a  little  impa- 
tiently. "I  don't  want  to  pronounce  any  opinion  on 
your  conduct " 

"By  heavens,  you  had  better  not!"  burst  out  D'Hu- 
bert. 

"There! — there!  Don't  be  so  quick  in  flourishing 
the  sword.  It  doesn't  pay  in  the  long  run.  Under- 
stand once  for  all  that  I  would  not  carve  any  of  you 
youngsters  except  with  the  tools  of  my  trade.  But  my 
advice  is  good.  If  you  go  on  like  this  you  will  make 
for  yourself  an  ugly  reputation." 

"Go  on  like  what?"  demanded  Lieutenant  D'Hubert, 
stopping  short,  quite  startled.  "I! — I! — make  for  my- 
self a  reputation What  do  you  imagine?" 

"I  told  you  I  don't  wish  to  judge  of  the  rights  and 
wrongs  of  this  incident.  It's  not  my  business.  Never- 
theless  " 

"What  on  earth  has  he  been  telling  you?"  in- 
terrupted Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  in  a  sort  of  awed 
scare. 

"I  told  you  already,  that  at  first,  when  I  picked  him 
up  in  the  garden,  he  was  incoherent.  Afterward  he 
was  naturally  reticent.  But  I  gather  at  least  that  he 
could  not  help  himself." 

"He  couldn't?"  shouted  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  in  a 


THE  DUEL  231 

great  voice.  Then,  lowering  his  tone  impressively, 
** And  what  about  me?     Could  I  help  myself?  " 

The  surgeon  stood  up.  His  thoughts  were  running 
upon  the  flute,  his  constant  companion  with  a  consoling 
voice.  In  the  vicinity  of  field  ambulances,  after  twenty- 
four  hours'  hard  work,  he  had  been  known  to  trouble 
with  its  sweet  sounds  the  horrible  stillness  of  battle- 
fields given  over  to  silence  and  the  dead.  The  solacing 
hour  of  his  daily  life  was  approaching,  and  in  peace 
time  he  held  on  to  the  minutes  as  a  miser  to  his  hoard. 

**0f  course! — of  course!"  he  said  perfunctorily. 
**You  would  think  so.  It's  amusing.  However,  being 
perfectly  neutral  and  friendly  to  you  both,  I  have  con- 
sented to  deliver  his  message  to  you.  Say  that  I  am 
humouring  an  invalid  if  you  like.  He  wants  you  to 
know  that  this  affair  is  by  no  means  at  an  end.  He 
intends  to  send  you  his  seconds  directly  he  has  regained 
his  strength — providing,  of  course,  the  army  is  not  in 
the  field  at  that  time." 

"He  intends,  does  he?  Why,  certainly,"  spluttered 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert  in  a  passion. 

The  secret  of  his  exasperation  was  not  apparent  to 
the  visitor;  but  this  passion  confirmed  the  surgeon  in 
the  belief  which  was  gaining  ground  outside  that  some 
very  serious  difference  had  arisen  between  these  two 
young  men,  something  serious  enough  to  wear  an  air  of 
mystery,  some  fact  of  the  utmost  gravity.  To  settle 
their  urgent  difference  about  that  fact,  those  two  young 


232  A  SET  OF  SIX 

men  had  risked  being  broken  and  disgraced  at  the  outset 
ahnost  of  their  career.  The  surgeon  feared  that  the 
forthcoming  inquiry  would  fail  to  satisfy  the  public 
curiosity.  They  would  not  take  the  public  into  their 
confidence  as  to  that  something  which  had  passed  be- 
tween them  of  a  nature  so  outrageous  as  to  make  them 
face  a  charge  of  murder — neither  more  nor  less. 
But  what  could  it  be.'* 

The  surgeon  was  not  very  curious  by  temperament; 
but  that  question  haunting  his  mind  caused  him  twice 
that  evening  to  hold  the  instrument  off  his  lips  and  sit 
silent  for  a  whole  minute — right  in  the  middle  of  a  tune 
— trying  to  form  a  plausible  conjecture. 

II 

He  succeeded  in  this  object  no  better  than  the  rest 
of  the  garrison  and  the  whole  of  society.  The  two 
young  oflScers,  of  no  especial  consequence  till  then,  be- 
came distinguished  by  the  universal  curiosity  as  to  the 
origin  of  their  quarrel.  Madame  de  Lionne's  salon 
was  the  centre  of  ingenious  surmises;  that  lady  herself 
was  for  a  time  assailed  by  inquiries  as  being  the  last 
person  known  to  have  spoken  to  these  unhappy  and 
reckless  young  men  before  they  went  out  together  from 
her  house  to  a  savage  encounter  with  swords,  at  dusk, 
in  a  private  garden.  She  protested  she  had  not  ob- 
served anything  unusual  in  their  demeanour.  Lieuten- 
ant Feraud  had  been  visibly  annoyed  at  being  called 


THE  DUEL  233 

away.  That  was  natural  enough;  no  man  hkes  to  be 
disturbed  in  a  conversation  with  a  lady  famed  for  her 
elegance  and  sensibility.  But  in  truth  the  subject 
bored  Madame  de  Lionne,  since  her  personality  could 
by  no  stretch  of  reckless  gossip  be  connected  with  this 
affair.  And  it  irritated  her  to  hear  it  advanced  that 
there  might  have  been  some  woman  in  the  case.  This 
irritation  arose,  not  from  her  elegance  or  sensibility, 
but  from  a  more  instinctive  side  of  her  nature.  It  be- 
came so  great  at  last  that  she  peremptorily  forbade  the 
subject  to  be  mentioned  under  her  roof.  Near  her 
couch  the  prohibition  was  obeyed,  but  farther  off  in  the 
salon  the  pall  of  the  imposed  silence  continued  to  be 
lifted  more  or  less.  A  personage  with  a  long,  pale  face, 
resembling  the  countenance  of  a  sheep,  opined,  shaking 
his  head,  that  it  was  a  quarrel  of  long  standing  en- 
venomed by  time.  It  was  objected  to  him  that  the 
men  themselves  were  too  young  for  such  a  theory.  They 
belonged  also  to  different  and  distant  parts  of  France. 
There  were  other  physical  impossibilities,  too.  A  sub- 
commissary  of  the  Intendence,  an  agreeable  and  culti- 
vated bachelor  in  kerseymere  breeches,  Hessian  boots, 
and  a  blue  coat  embroidered  with  silver  lace,  who 
affected  to  believe  in  the  transmigration  of  souls, 
suggested  that  the  two  had  met  perhaps  in  some  pre- 
vious existence.  The  feud  was  in  the  forgotten  past. 
It  might  have  been  something  quite  inconceivable  in 
the  present  state  of  their  being;  but  their  souls  remem- 


234  A  SET  OF  SIX 

bered  the  animosity,  and  manifested  an  instinctive 
antagonism.  He  developed  this  theme  jocularly.  Yet 
the  affair  was  so  absurd  from  the  worldly,  the  military, 
the  honourable,  or  the  prudential  point  of  view,  that 
this  weird  explanation  seemed  rather  more  reasonable 
than  any  other. 

The  two  officers  had  confided  nothing  definite  to 
any  one.  Humiliation  at  having  been  worsted  arms 
in  hand,  and  an  uneasy  feeling  of  having  been  involved 
in  a  scrape  by  the  injustice  of  fate,  kept  Lieutenant 
Feraud  savagely  dumb.  He  mistrusted  the  sympathy 
of  mankind.  That  would,  of  course,  go  to  that  dandi- 
fied staff  officer.  Lying  in  bed,  he  raved  aloud  to 
the  pretty  maid  who  administered  to  his  needs  with 
devotion,  and  listened  to  his  horrible  imprecations  with 
alarm.  That  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  should  be  made  to 
"pay  for  it,"  seemed  to  her  just  and  natural.  Her 
principal  care  was  that  Lieutenant  Feraud  should  not 
excite  himself.  He  appeared  so  wholly  admirable  and 
fascinating  to  the  humility  of  her  heart  that  her  only 
concern  was  to  see  him  get  well  quickly,  even  if  it 
were  only  to  resume  his  visits  to  Madame  de  Lionne's 
salon. 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  kept  silent  for  the  immediate 
reason  that  there  was  no  one,  except  a  stupid  young 
soldier  servant,  to  speak  to.  Further,  he  was  aware 
that  the  episode,  so  grave  professionally,  had  its  comic 
side.     When  reflecting  upon  it,  he  still  felt  that  he 


THE  DUEL  235 

would  like  to  wring  Lieutenant  Feraud's  neck  for  him. 
But  this  formula  was  figurative  rather  than  precise, 
and  expressed  more  a  state  of  mind  than  an  actual 
physical  impulse.  At  the  same  time,  there  was  in  that 
young  man  a  feeling  of  comradeship  and  kindness 
which  made  him  unwilling  to  make  the  position  of 
Lieutenant  Feraud  worse  than  it  was.  He  did  not 
want  to  talk  at  large  about  this  wretched  affair.  At 
the  inquiry  he  would  have,  of  course,  to  speak  the  truth 
in  self-defence.     This  prospect  vexed  him. 

But  no  inquiry  took  place.  The  army  took  the  field 
instead.  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  liberated  without  re- 
mark, took  up  his  regimental  duties;  and  Lieutenant 
Feraud,  his  arm  just  out  of  the  sling,  rode  unquestioned 
with  his  squadron  to  complete  his  convalescence  in  the 
smoke  of  battlefields  and  the  fresh  air  of  night  bivouacs. 
This  bracing  treatment  suited  him  so  well  that  at  the 
first  rumour  of  an  armistice  being  signed  he  could  turn 
without  misgivings  to  the  thoughts  of  his  private  war- 
fare. 

This  time  it  was  to  be  regular  warfare.  He  sent 
two  friends  to  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  whose  regiment 
was  stationed  only  a  few  miles  away.  Those  friends 
had  asked  no  questions  of  their  principal.  **I  owe  him 
one,  that  pretty  staff  oflBcer,"  he  had  said  grimly,  and 
they  went  away  quite  contentedly  on  their  mission. 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  two 
friends  equally  discreet  and  devoted  to  their  principal. 


236  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"There's  a  crazy  fellow  to  whom  I  must  give  a  lesson," 
he  had  declared  curtly;  and  they  asked  for  no  better 
reasons. 

On  these  grounds  an  encounter  with  duelling-swords 
was  arranged  one  early  morning  in  a  convenient  field. 
At  the  third  set-to  Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  found  himself 
lying  on  his  back  on  the  dewy  grass  with  a  hole  in  his 
side.  A  serene  sun  rising  over  a  landscape  of  meadows 
and  woods  hung  on  his  left.  A  surgeon — not  the  flute 
player,  but  another — was  bending  over  him,  feeling 
around  the  wound. 

"Narrow  squeak.  But  it  will  be  nothing,"  he  pro- 
nounced. 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  heard  these  words  with  pleas- 
ure. One  of  his  seconds,  sitting  on  the  wet  grass,  and 
sustaining  his  head  on  his  lap,  said,  "The  fortune  of 
war,  mon  pauvre  vieux.  What  will  you  have.^  You 
had  better  make  it  up  like  two  good  fellows.     Do!" 

"You  don't  know  what  you  ask,"  murmured  Lieu- 
tenant D'Hubert,  in  a  feeble  voice.  "However,  if 
he  .     .     ." 

Lq  another  part  of  the  meadow  the  seconds  of  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud  were  urging  him  to  go  over  and  shake 
hands  with  his  adversary. 

"You  have  paid  him  off  now — que  diable.  It's 
the  proper  thing  to  do.  This  D'Hubert  is  a  decent 
fellow." 

"I  know  the  decency  of  these  generals'  pets,"  mut- 


THE  DUEL  237 

tered  Lieutenant  Feraud  through  his  teeth,  and  the 
sombre  expression  of  his  face  discouraged  further 
efforts  at  reconciHation.  The  seconds,  bowing  from  a 
distance,  took  their  men  off  the  field.  In  the  afternoon 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  very  popular  as  a  good  comrade 
uniting  great  bravery  with  a  frank  and  equable  temper, 
had  many  visitors.  It  was  remarked  that  Lieutenant 
Feraud  did  not,  as  is  customary,  show  himself  much 
abroad  to  receive  the  felicitations  of  his  friends.  They 
would  not  have  failed  him,  because  he,  too,  was  liked 
for  the  exuberance  of  his  southern  nature  and  the  sim- 
plicity of  his  character.  In  all  the  places  where  officers 
were  in  the  habit  of  assembling  at  the  end  of  the  day, 
the  duel  of  the  morning  was  talked  over  from  every 
point  of  view.  Though  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  had  got 
worsted  this  time,  his  sword  play  was  commended.  No 
one  could  deny  that  it  was  very  close,  very  scientific. 
It  was  even  whispered  that  if  he  got  touched  it  was  be- 
cause he  washed  to  spare  his  adversary.  But  by  many 
the  vigour  and  dash  of  Lieutenant  Feraud's  attack  were 
pronounced  irresistible. 

The  merits  of  the  two  officers  as  combatants  were 
frankly  discussed;  but  their  attitude  to  each  other  after 
the  duel  was  criticised  lightly  and  with  caution.  It 
was  irreconcilable,  and  that  was  to  be  regretted.  But 
after  all  they  knew  best  what  the  care  of  their  honour 
dictated.  It  was  not  a  matter  for  their  comrades  to 
pry  into  over-much.     As  to  the  origin  of  the  quarrel. 


238  A  SET  OF  SIX 

the  general  impression  was  that  it  dated  from  the  time 
they  were  holding  garrison  in  Strasbourg.  The  musical 
surgeon  shook  his  head  at  that.  It  went  much  farther 
back,  he  thought. 

"Why,  of  course!  You  must  know  the  whole  story," 
cried  several  voices,  eager  with  curiosity.  "What 
was  it?" 

He  raised  his  eyes  from  his  glass  deUberately.  "Even 
if  I  knew  ever  so  well,  you  can't  expect  me  to  tell  you, 
since  both  the  principals  choose  to  say  nothing." 

He  got  up  and  went  out,  leaving  the  sense  of  mystery 
behind  him.  He  could  not  stay  any  longer,  because 
the  witching  hour  of  flute-playing  was  drawing  near. 

After  he  had  gone  a  very  young  officer  observed 
solemnly,  "Obviously!     His  hps  are  sealed." 

Nobody  questioned  the  high  correctness  of  that  re- 
mark. Somehow  it  added  to  the  impressiveness  of  the 
affair.  Several  older  officers  of  both  regiments,  prompted 
by  nothing  but  sheer  kindness  and  love  of  harmony, 
proposed  to  form  a  Court  of  Honour,  to  which  the  two 
young  men  would  leave  the  task  of  their  reconciliation. 
Unfortunately,  they  began  by  approaching  Lieutenant 
Feraud,  on  the  assumption  that,  having  just  scored 
heavily,  he  would  be  found  placable  and  disposed  to 
moderation. 

The  reasoning  was  sound  enough.  Nevertheless,  the 
move  turned  out  unfortunate.  In  that  relaxation  of 
moral  fibre,  which  is  brought  about  by  the  ease  of 


THE  DUEL  239 

soothed  vanity,  Lieutenant  Feraud  had  condescended 
in  the  secret  of  his  heart  to  review  the  case,  and  even 
had  come  to  doubt  not  the  justice  of  his  cause,  but  the 
absolute  sagacity  of  his  conduct.  This  being  so,  he 
was  disincHned  to  talk  about  it.  The  suggestion  of  the 
the  regimental  wise  men  put  him  in  a  difficult  position. 
He  was  disgusted  at  it,  and  this  disgust,  by  a  paradox- 
ical logic,  reawakened  his  animosity  against  Lieutenant 
D 'Hubert.  Was  he  to  be  pestered  by  this  fellow  for- 
ever— the  fellow  who  had  an  infernal  knack  of  getting 
round  people  somehow?  And  yet  it  was  difficult  to  re- 
fuse point  blank  that  mediation  sanctioned  by  the  code 
of  honour. 

He  met  the  difficulty  by  an  attitude  of  grim  reserve. 
He  twisted  his  moustache  and  used  vague  words.  His 
case  was  perfectly  clear.  He  was  not  ashamed  to 
state  it  before  a  proper  Court  of  Honour,  neither  was 
he  afraid  to  defend  it  on  the  ground.  He  did  not  see 
any  reason  to  jump  at  the  suggestion  before  ascertain- 
ing how  his  adversary  was  likely  to  take  it. 

Later  in  the  day,  his  exasperation  growing  upon  him, 
he  was  heard  in  a  public  place  saying  sardonically, 
"that  it  would  be  the  very  luckiest  thing  for  Lieuten- 
ant D 'Hubert,  because  the  next  time  of  meeting  he 
need  not  hope  to  get  off  with  the  mere  trifle  of  three 
weeks  in  bed." 

This  boastful  phrase  might  have  been  prompted  by 
the  most  profound  Machiavellism.     Southern  natures 


240  A  SET  OF  SIX 

often  hide,  under  the  outward  impulsiveness  of  action 
and  speech,  a  certain  amount  of  astuteness. 

Lieutenant  Feraud,  mistrusting  the  justice  of  men, 
by  no  means  desired  a  Court  of  Honour;  and  the  above 
words,  according  so  well  with  his  temperament,  had 
also  the  merit  of  serving  his  turn.  Whether  meant  so 
or  not,  they  found  their  way  in  less  than  four-and- 
twenty  hours  into  Lieutenant  D'Hubert's  bedroom. 
In  consequence  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  sitting  propped 
up  with  pillows,  received  the  overtures  made  to  him  next 
day  by  the  statement  that  the  affair  was  of  a  nature 
which  could  not  bear  discussion. 

The  pale  face  of  the  wounded  officer,  his  weak  voice, 
which  he  had  yet  to  use  cautiously,  and  the  courteous 
dignity  of  his  tone  had  a  great  effect  on  his  hearers. 
Reported  outside,  all  this  did  more  for  deepening  the 
mystery  than  the  vapourings  of  Lieutenant  Feraud. 
This  last  was  greatly  relieved  at  the  issue.  He  began 
to  enjoy  the  state  of  general  wonder,  and  was  pleased  to 
add  to  it  by  assuming  an  attitude  of  fierce  discretion. 

The  colonel  of  Lieutenant  D'Hubert's  regiment  was  a 
gray-haired,  weather-beaten  warrior,  who  took  a  simple 
view  of  his  responsibilities.  "I  can't,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "let  the  best  of  my  subalterns  get  damaged  like 
this  for  nothing.  I  must  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  affair 
privately.  He  must  speak  out  if  the  devil  were  in  it. 
The  colonel  should  be  more  than  a  father  to  these 
youngsters."     And  indeed  he  loved  all  his  men  with  as 


THE  DUEL  241 

much  afifection  as  a  father  of  a  large  family  can  feel  for 
every  individual  member  of  it.  If  human  beings  by 
an  oversight  of  Providence  came  into  the  world  as  mere 
civilians,  they  were  born  again  into  a  regiment  as  infants 
are  born  into  a  family,  and  it  was  that  military  birth 
alone  which  counted. 

At  the  sight  of  Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  standing  before 
him  very  bleached  and  hollow-eyed  the  heart  of  the  old 
warrior  felt  a  pang  of  genuine  compassion.  All  his 
affection  for  the  regiment — that  body  of  men  which  he 
held  in  his  hand  to  launch  forward  and  draw  back,  who 
ministered  to  his  pride  and  commanded  all  his  thoughts 
— seemed  centred  for  a  moment  on  the  person  of  the 
most  promising  subaltern.  He  cleared  his  throat  in  a 
threatening  manner,  and  frowned  terribly.  "You 
must  understand,"  he  began,  "that  I  don't  care  a  rap 
for  the  life  of  a  single  man  in  the  regiment.  I  would 
send  the  eight  hundred  and  forty-three  of  you  men  and 
horses  galloping  into  the  pit  of  perdition  with  no  more 
compunction  than  I  would  kill  a  fly!" 

"Yes,  Colonel.  You  would  be  riding  at  our  head," 
said  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  with  a  wan  smile. 

The  colonel,  who  felt  the  need  of  being  very  diplo- 
matic, fairly  roared  at  this.  "I  want  you  to  know,  Lieu- 
tenant D'Hubert,  that  I  could  stand  aside  and  see  you 
all  riding  to  Hades  if  need  be.  I  am  a  man  to  do  even 
that  if  the  good  of  the  service  and  my  duty  to  my 
country  required  it  from  me.     But  that's  unthinkable. 


242  A  SET  OF  SIX 

so  don't  you  even  hint  at  such  a  thing."  He  glared 
awfully,  but  his  tone  softened.  "There's  some  milk  yet 
about  that  moustache  of  yours,  my  boy.  You  don't 
know  what  a  man  like  me  is  capable  of.  I  would  hide 
behind  a  haystack  if  .  .  .  Don't  grin  at  me,  sir! 
How  dare  you.'*  If  this  were  not  a  private  conversation, 
I  would  .  .  .  Look  here !  I  am  responsible  for  the 
proper  expenditure  of  lives  under  my  command  for  the 
glory  of  our  country  and  the  honour  of  the  regiment. 
Do  you  understand  that?  Well,  then,  what  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  letting  yourself  be  spitted  like  this  by 
that  fellow  of  the  Seventh  Hussars.?  It's  simply  dis- 
graceful!" 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  felt  vexed  beyond  measure. 
His  shoulders  moved  slightly.  He  made  no  other 
answer.     He  could  not  ignore  his  responsibility. 

The  colonel  veiled  his  glance  and  lowered  his  voice 
still  more.  "It's  deplorable!"  he  murmured.  And 
again  he  changed  his  tone.  "Come!"  he  went  on  per- 
suasively, but  with  that  note  of  authority  which  dwells 
in  the  throat  of  a  good  leader  of  men,  "  this  affair  must 
be  settled.  I  desire  to  be  told  plainly  what  it  is  all 
about.     I  demand,  as  your  best  friend,  to  know." 

The  compelling  power  of  authority,  the  persuasive 
influence  of  kindness,  affected  powerfully  a  man  just 
risen  from  a  bed  of  sickness.  Lieutenant  D'Hubert's 
hand,  which  grasped  the  knob  of  a  stick,  trembled 
slightly.     But  his  northern  temperament,  sentimental 


THE  DUEL  243 

yet  cautious,  and  clear-sighted,  too,  in  its  idealistic  way, 
checked  his  impulse  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole 
deadly  absurdity.  According  to  the  precept  of  tran- 
scendental wisdom,  he  turned  his  tongue  seven  times 
in  his  mouth  before  he  spoke.  He  made  then  only  a 
speech  of  thanks. 

The  colonel  listened,  interested  at  first,  then  looked 
mystified.  At  last  he  frowned.  "You  hesitate.^ — 
mille  tonnerres!  Haven't  I  told  you  that  I  will  conde- 
scend to  argue  with  you — as  a  friend.''" 

"Yes,  Colonel!"  answered  Lieutenant  D'Hubert 
gently.  "But  I  am  afraid  that  after  you  have  heard 
me  out  as  a  friend  you  will  take  action  as  my  superior 
officer." 

The  attentive  colonel  snapped  his  jaws.  "Well, 
what  of  that?"  he  said  frankly.  "Is  it  so  damnably 
disgraceful.'" 

"It  is  not,"  negatived  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  in  a 
faint  but  firm  voice. 

"Of  course  I  shall  act  for  the  good  of  the  service. 
Nothing  can  prevent  me  doing  that.  What  do  you 
think  I  want  to  be  told  for.'' " 

"I  know  it  is  not  from  idle  curiosity,"  protested 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert.  "I  know  you  will  act  wisely. 
But  what  about  the  good  fame  of  the  regiment?" 

"It  cannot  be  afTected  by  any  youthful  folly  of  a 
lieutenant,"  said  the  colonel  severely. 

"No.     It  cannot  be.     But  it  can  be  by  evil  tongues. 


244  A  SET  OF  SIX 

It  will  be  said  that  a  lieutenant  of  the  Fourth  Hussars, 
afraid  of  meeting  his  adversary,  is  hiding  behind  his 
colonel.  And  that  would  be  worse  than  hiding  behind 
a  haystack — for  the  good  of  the  service.  I  cannot 
afford  to  do  that,  Colonel." 

** Nobody  would  dare  to  say  anything  of  the  kind," 
began  the  colonel  very  fiercely,  but  ended  the  phrase  on 
an  uncertain  note.  The  bravery  of  Lieutenant  D'Hu- 
bert  was  well  known.  But  the  colonel  was  well  aware 
that  the  duelling  courage,  the  single  combat  courage,  is 
rightly  or  wrongly  supposed  to  be  courage  of  a  special 
sort.  And  it  was  eminently  necessary  that  an  officer  of 
his  regiment  should  possess  every  kind  of  courage — and 
prove  it,  too.  The  colonel  stuck  out  his  lower  hp,  and 
looked  far  away  with  a  peculiar  glazed  stare.  This  was 
the  expression  of  his  perplexity — an  expression  practi- 
cally unknown  in  his  regiment ;  for  perplexity  is  a  senti- 
ment which  is  incompatible  with  the  rank  of  colonel  of 
cavalry.  The  colonel  himself  was  overcome  by  the  un- 
pleasant novelty  of  the  sensation.  As  he  was  not 
accustomed  to  think  except  on  professional  matters 
connected  with  the  welfare  of  men  and  horses,  and  the 
proper  use  thereof  on  the  field  of  glory,  his  intellectual 
efforts  degenerated  into  mere  mental  repetitions  of  pro- 
fane language.  '' Mille  tonnerres !  .  .  .  SacrS  nom 
de  nom    .     .     . "  he  thought. 

Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  coughed  painfully,  and  added 
in  a  weary  voice :     "There  will  be  plenty  of  evil  tongues 


THE  DUEL  245 

to  say  that  I've  been  cowed.  And  I  am  sure  you  will 
not  expect  me  to  pass  that  over.  I  may  find  myself 
suddenly  with  a  dozen  duels  on  my  hands  instead  of 
this  one  affair."  / 

The  direct  simplicity  of  this  argument  came  home  to 
the  colonel's  understanding.  He  looked  at  his  sub- 
ordinate fixedly.  "Sit  down,  Lieutenant!"  he  said 
gruffly.  "This  is  the  very  devil  of  a  ...  Sit 
down! " 

"Mon  Colonel,'"  D'Hubert  began  again,  "I  am  not 
afraid  of  evil  tongues.  There's  a  way  of  silencing  them. 
But  there's  my  peace  of  mind,  too.  I  wouldn't  be  able 
to  shake  off  the  notion  that  I've  ruined  a  brother  officer. 
Whatever  action  you  take,  it  is  bound  to  go  farther. 
The  inquiry  has  been  dropped — let  it  rest  now.  It 
would  have  been  absolutely  fatal  to  Feraud." 

"Hey!     What!     Did  he  behave  so  badly.'" 

"Yes.  It  was  pretty  bad,"  muttered  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert.  Being  still  very  weak,  he  felt  a  disposition 
to  cry. 

As  the  other  man  did  not  belong  to  his  own  regiment, 
the  colonel  had  no  difficulty  in  believing  this.  He  be- 
gan to  pace  up  and  down  the  room.  He  was  a  good 
chief,  a  man  capable  of  discreet  sympathy.  But  he  was 
human  in  other  ways,  too,  and  this  became  apparent  be- 
cause he  was  not  capable  of  artifice. 

"The  very  devil.  Lieutenant,"  he  blurted  out,  in  the 
innocence  of  his  heart,  "  is  that  I  have  declared  my  in- 


246  A  SET  OF  SIX 

tention  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  affair.     And  when  a 
colonel  says  something     .     .     .     You  see     .     .     ." 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  broke  in  earnestly:  "Let  me 
entreat  you,  Colonel,  to  be  satisfied  with  taking  my 
word  of  honour  that  I  was  put  into  a  damnable  position 
where  I  had  no  option;  I  had  no  choice  whatever,  con- 
sistent with  my  dignity  as  a  man  and  an  officer.  .  .  . 
After  all,  Colonel,  this  fact  is  the  very  bottom  of  this 
affair.  Here  you've  got  it.  The  rest  is  mere  de- 
tail.    ..." 

The  colonel  stopped  short.  The  reputation  of  Lieu- 
tenant D'Hubert  for  good  sense  and  good  temper 
weighed  in  the  balance.  A  cool  head,  a  warm  heart, 
open  as  the  day.  Always  correct  in  his  behaviour.  One 
had  to  trust  him.  The  colonel  repressed  manfully  an 
immense  curiosity.  "H'm!  You  affirm  that  as  a  man 
and  an  officer.     .     .     .     No  option?     Eh?" 

"As  an  officer — an  officer  of  the  Fourth  Hussars, 
too,"  insisted  Lieutenant  D'Hubert,  "I  had  not.  And 
that  is  the  bottom  of  the  affair.  Colonel." 

"Yes.  But  still  I  don't  see  why,  to  one's  colonel. 
.     .     .     A  colonel  is  a  father — que  diable  !'* 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert  ought  not  to  have  been  allowed 
out  as  yet.  He  was  becoming  aware  of  his  physical  in- 
sufficiency with  humiliation  and  despair.  But  the 
morbid  obstinacy  of  an  invalid  possessed  him,  and 
at  the  same  time  he  felt  with  dismay  his  eyes  filling 
with  water.     This  trouble  seemed  too  big  to  handle. 


THE  DLTEL  247 

A  tear  fell  down  the  thin  pale  cheek  of  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert. 

The  colonel  turned  his  back  on  him  hastily.  You 
could  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  "This  is  some  silly 
woman  story — is  it  not?" 

Saying  these  words  the  chief  spun  round  to  seize  the 
truth,  which  is  not  a  beautiful  shape  living  in  a  well,  but 
a  shy  bird  best  caught  by  stratagem.  This  was  the  last 
move  of  the  colonel's  diplomacy.  He  saw  the  truth 
shining  immistakably  in  the  gesture  of  Lieutenant 
D 'Hubert  raising  his  weak  arms  and  his  eyes  to  heaven  in 
supreme  protest. 

"Not  a  woman  affair — eh.^"  growled  the  colonel, 
staring  hard.  "I  don't  ask  you  who  or  where.  All  I 
want  to  know  is  whether  there  is  a  woman  in  it?" 

Lieutenant  D'Hubert's  arms  dropped,  and  his  weak 
voice  was  pathetically  broken. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  mon  Colonel.''^ 

"On  your  honour?"  insisted  the  old  warrior. 

"On  my  honour." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  colonel  thoughtfully,  and  bit 
his  lip.  The  arguments  of  Lieutenant  D 'Hubert, 
helped  by  his  liking  for  the  man,  had  convinced  him. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  was  highly  improper  that  his  in- 
tervention, of  which  he  had  made  no  secret,  shoukl 
produce  no  visible  effect.  He  kept  Lieutenant  D'Hu- 
bert  a  few  minutes  longer,  and  dismissed  him  kindly. 

"Take  a  few  days  more  in  bed,  Lieutenant.     What 


248  A   SET  OF  SIX 

the  devil  does  the  surgeon  mean  by  reporting  you  fit  for 
duty?" 

On  coming  out  of  the  colonel's  quarters,  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert  said  nothing  to  the  friend  who  was  waiting 
outside  to  take  him  home.  He  said  nothing  to  anybody. 
Lieutenant  D'Hubert  made  no  confidences.  But  on 
the  evening  of  that  day  the  colonel,  strolling  under  the 
elms  growing  near  his  quarters,  in  the  company  of  his 
second  in  command,  opened  his  lips. 

"I've  got  to  the  bottom  of  this  affair,"  he  remarked. 

The  lieutenant-colonel,  a  dry,  brown  chip  of  a  man 
with  short  side-whiskers,  pricked  up  his  ears  at  that 
without  letting  a  sign  of  curiosity  escape  him. 

"It's  no  trifle,"  added  the  colonel  oracularly.  The 
other  waited  for  a  long  while  before  he  murmured : 

"Indeed,  sir!" 

"No  trifle,"  repeated  the  colonel,  looking  straight 
before  him.  "I've  however  forbidden  D'Hubert  either 
to  send  to  or  receive  a  challenge  from  Feraud  for  the 
next  twelve  months." 

He  had  imagined  this  prohibition  to  save  the  prestige 
a  colonel  should  have.  The  result  of  it  was  to  give  an 
official  seal  to  the  mystery  surrounding  this  deadly 
quarrel .  Lieutenant  D 'Hubert  repelled  by  an  impassive 
silence  all  attempts  to  worm  the  truth  out  of  him.  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud,  secretly  uneasy  at  first,  regained  his 
assurance  as  time  went  on.  He  disguised  his  igno- 
rance of  the  meaning  of  the  imposed  truce  by  slight, 


THE  DUEL  249 

sardonic  laughs,  as  though  he  were  amused  by  what  he 
intended  to  keep  to  himself.  "But  what  will  you  do?" 
his  chums  used  to  ask  him.  He  contented  himself  by 
replying:  ^'Qui  vivra  verra''  with  a  little  truculent  air. 
And  everybody  admired  his  discretion. 

Before  the  end  of  the  truce  Lieutenant  D'Hubert  got 
his  troop.  The  promotion  w^as  well  earned,  but  some- 
how no  one  seemed  to  expect  the  event.  When  Lieu- 
tenant Feraud  heard  of  it  at  a  gathering  of  officers,  he 
muttered  through  his  teeth  "Is  that  so. f^"  At  once  he 
unhooked  his  sabre  from  a  peg  near  the  door,  buckled 
it  on  carefully,  and  left  the  company  without  another 
word  He  walked  hom.e  with  measured  steps,  struck  a 
light  with  his  flint  and  steel,  and  lit  his  tallow  candle. 
Then  snatching  an  unlucky  glass  tumbler  off  the  mantel- 
piece, he  dashed  it  violently  on  the  floor. 

Now  that  D  Hubert  wa  an  officer  of  superior  rank 
there  could  be  no  question  of  a  duel.  Neither  of  them 
could  send  or  receive  a  challenge  without  rendering 
himself  amenable  to  a  court-martial.  It  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  Lieutenant  Feraud,  who  for  many  days 
now  had  experienced  no  real  desire  to  meet  Lieutenant 
D'Hubert  arms  in  hand,  chafed  again  at  the  syste- 
matic injustice  of  fate.  "Does  he  think  he  will  escape 
me  in  that  w^ay.^*"  he  thought  indignantly.  He  saw  in 
this  promotion  an  intrigue,  a  conspiracy,  a  cowardly 
manoeuvre.  That  colonel  knew  what  he  was  doing. 
He  had  hastened  to  recommend  his  favourite  for  a  step. 


250  A  SET  OF  SIX 

It  was  outrageous  that  a  man  should  be  able  to  avoid 
the  consequences  of  his  acts  in  such  a  dark  and  tortuous 
manner. 

Of  a  happy-go-lucky  disposition,  of  a  temperament 
more  pugnacious  than  military,  Lieutenant  Feraud  had 
been  content  to  give  and  receive  blows  for  sheer  love  of 
armed  strife,  and  without  much  thought  of  advance- 
ment; but  now  an  urgent  desire  to  get  on  sprang  up  in 
his  breast.  This  fighter  by  vocation  resolved  in  his 
mind  to  seize  showy  occasions  and  to  court  the  favour- 
able opinion  of  his  chiefs  like  a  mere  worldling.  He 
knew  he  was  as  brave  as  any  one,  and  never  doubted  his 
personal  charm.  Nevertheless,  neither  the  bravery 
nor  the  charm  seemed  to  work  very  swiftly.  Lieuten- 
ant Feraud's  engaging,  careless  truculence  of  a  beau 
sahreur  underwent  a  change.  He  began  to  make  bitter 
allusions  to  "clever  fellows  who  stick  at  nothing  to  get 
on."  The  army  was  full  of  them,  he  would  say;  you 
had  only  to  look  round.  But  all  the  time  he  had  in  view 
one  person  only,  his  adversary,  D 'Hubert.  Once  he 
confided  to  an  appreciative  friend.  "You  see,  I  don't 
know  how  to  fawn  on  the  right  side  of  people.  It  isn't 
in  my  character." 

He  did  not  get  his  step  till  a  week  after  Austerlitz. 
The  Light  Cavalry  of  the  Grand  Army  had  its  hands 
very  full  of  interesting  work  for  a  little  while.  Directly 
the  pressure  of  professional  occupation  had  been  eased, 
Captain  Feraud  took  measures  to  arrange  a  meeting 


THE  DUEL  251 

without  loss  of  time.  "I  know  my  bird,"  he  observed 
grimly.  "If  I  don't  look  sharp  he  will  take  care  to  get 
himself  promoted  over  the  heads  of  a  dozen  better  men 
than  himself.  He's  got  the  knack  for  that  sort  of  thing." 
This  duel  was  fought  in  Silesia.  If  not  fought  to  a 
finish,  it  was,  at  any  rate,  fought  to  a  standstill.  The 
weapon  was  the  cavalry  sabre,  and  the  skill,  the  science, 
the  vigour,  and  the  determination  displayed  by  the  ad- 
versaries compelled  the  admiration  of  the  beholders. 
It  became  the  subject  of  talk  on  both  shores  of  the 
Danube,  and  as  far  as  the  garrisons  of  Gratz  and  Lay- 
bach.  They  crossed  blades  seven  times.  Both  had 
many  cuts  which  bled  profusely.  Both  refused  to  have 
the  combat  stopped,  time  after  time,  with  what  appeared 
the  most  deadly  animosity.  This  appearance  was 
caused  on  the  part  of  Captain  D'Hubert  by  a  rational 
desire  to  be  done  once  for  all  with  this  worry;  on  the 
part  of  Captain  Feraud  by  a  tremendous  exaltation  of 
his  pugnacious  instincts  and  the  incitement  of  wounded 
vanity.  At  last,  dishevelled,  their  shirts  in  rags,  covered 
with  gore,  and  hardly  able  to  stand,  they  were  led  away 
forcibly  by  their  marvelling  and  horrified  seconds. 
Later  on,  besieged  by  comrades  avid  of  details,  these 
gentlemen  declared  that  they  could  not  have  allowed 
that  sort  of  hacking  to  go  on  indefinitely.  Asked 
whether  the  quarrel  was  settled  this  time,  they  gave  it 
out  as  their  conviction  that  it  was  a  difference  which 
could  only  be  settled  by  one  of  the  parties  remaining 


252  A  SET  OF  SIX 

lifeless  on  the  ground.  The  sensation  spread  from  army 
corps  to  army  corps,  and  penetrated  at  last  to  the 
smallest  detachments  of  the  troops  cantoned  between 
the  Rhine  and  the  Save.  In  the  cafes  in  Vienna  it  was 
generally  estimated,  from  details  to  hand,  that  the 
adversaries  would  be  able  to  meet  again  in  three  weeks' 
time  on  the  outside.  Something  really  transcendent 
in  the  way  of  duelling  was  expected. 

These  expectations  were  brought  to  nought  by  the 
necessities  of  the  service  which  separated  the  two 
officers.  No  official  notice  had  been  taken  of  their 
quarrel.  It  was  now  the  property  of  the  army,  and  not 
to  be  meddled  with  lightly.  But  the  story  of  the  duel, 
or  rather  their  duelling  propensities,  must  have  stood 
somewhat  in  the  way  of  their  advancement,  because 
they  were  still  captains  when  they  came  together  again 
during  the  war  with  Prussia.  Detached  north  after 
Jena,  with  the  army  commanded  by  Marshal  Berna- 
dotte,  Prince  of  Ponte  Corvo,  they  entered  LUbeck  to- 
gether. 

It  was  only  after  the  occupation  of  that  town  that 
Captain  Feraud  found  leisure  to  consider  his  future  con- 
duct in  view  of  the  fact  that  Captain  D'Hubert  had  been 
given  the  position  of  third  aide-de-camp  to  the  marshal. 
He  considered  it  a  great  part  of  a  night,  and  in  the 
morning  summoned  two  sympathetic  friends. 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over  calmly,"  he  said,  gazing 
at  them  with  bloodshot,  tired  eyes.     "I  see  that  I 


THE  DUEL  253 

must  get  rid  of  that  intriguing  personage.  Here  he's 
managed  to  sneak  on  to  the  personal  staff  of  the 
marshal.  It's  a  direct  provocation  to  me.  I  can't 
tolerate  a  situation  in  which  I  am  exposed  any  day  to 
receive  an  order  through  him.  And  God  knows  what 
order,  too!  That  sort  of  thing  has  happened  once  be- 
fore— and  that's  once  too  often.  He  understands  this 
perfectly,  never  fear.  I  can't  tell  you  any  more.  Now 
you  know  what  it  is  you  have  to  do.'" 

This  encounter  took  place  outside  the  town  of  LU- 
beck,  on  very  open  ground,  selected  with  special  care  in 
deference  to  the  general  sentiment  of  the  cavalry  di- 
vision belonging  to  the  army  corps,  that  this  time  the 
two  oflBcers  should  meet  on  horseback.  After  all,  this 
duel  was  a  cavalry  affair,  and  to  persist  in  fighting  on 
foot  would  look  like  a  slight  on  one's  own  arm  of  the 
service.  The  seconds,  startled  by  the  unusual  nature 
of  the  suggestion,  hastened  to  refer  to  their  principals. 
Captain  Feraud  jumped  at  it  with  alacrity.  For  some 
obscure  reason,  depending,  no  doubt,  on  his  psychology, 
he  imagined  himself  invincible  on  horseback.  All  alone 
within  the  four  walls  of  his  room  he  rubbed  his  hands 
and  muttered  triumphantly:  "Aha!  my  pretty  staff 
officer,  I've  got  you  now." 

Captain  D'Hubert  on  his  side,  after  staring  hard  for 
a  considerable  time  at  his  friends,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  slightly.  This  affair  had  hopelessly  and  un- 
reasonably  complicated   his   existence   for  him.     One 


254  A  SET  OF  SIX 

absurdity  more  or  less  in  the  development  did  not 
matter — all  absurdity  was  distasteful  to  him;  but, 
urbane  as  ever,  he  produced  a  faintly  ironic  smile,  and 
said  in  his  calm  voice:  "It  certainly  will  do  away  to 
some  extent  with  the  monotony  of  the  thing," 

When  left  alone,  he  sat  down  at  a  table  and  took  his 
head  into  his  hands.  He  had  not  spared  himself  of  late, 
and  the  marshal  had  been  working  all  his  aides-de- 
camp particularly  hard.  The  last  three  weeks  of  cam- 
paigning in  horrible  weather  had  affected  his  health. 
When  overtired  he  suffered  from  a  stitch  in  his  wounded 
side,  and  that  uncomfortable  sensation  always  depressed 
him.  "It's  that  brute's  doing,  too,"  he  thought  bit- 
terly. 

The  day  before  he  had  received  a  letter  from  home, 
announcing  that  his  only  sister  was  going  to  be  married. 
He  reflected  that  from  the  time  she  was  nineteen  and  he 
twenty-six,  when  he  went  away  to  garrison  life  in  Stras- 
bourg, he  had  had  but  two  short  glimpses  of  her.  They 
had  been  great  friends  and  confidants ;  and  now  she  was 
going  to  be  given  away  to  a  man  whom  he  did  not  know 
— a  very  worthy  fellow  no  doubt,  but  not  half  good 
enough  for  her.  He  would  never  see  his  old  L6onie 
again.  She  had  a  capable  little  head,  and  plenty  of 
tact;  she  would  know  how  to  manage  the  fellow,  to  be 
sure.  He  was  easy  in  his  mind  about  her  happiness, 
but  he  felt  ousted  from  the  first  place  in  her  thoughts, 
which  had  been  his  ever  since  the  girl  could  speak.     A 


THE  DUEL  ^55 

melancholy  regret  of  the  days  of  his  childhood  settled 
upon  Captain  D 'Hubert,  third  aide-de-camp  to  the 
Prince  of  Ponte  Corvo. 

He  threw  aside  the  letter  of  congratulation  he  had 
begun  to  write  as  in  duty  bound,  but  without  enthusi- 
asm. He  took  a  fresh  piece  of  paper,  and  traced  on  it 
the  words:  "This  is  my  last  will  and  testament." 
Looking  at  these  words,  he  gave  himself  up  to  unpleas- 
ant reflection;  a  presentiment  that  he  would  never  see 
the  scenes  of  his  childhood  weighed  down  the  equable 
spirits  of  Captain  D'Hubert.  He  jumped  up,  pushing 
his  chair  back,  yawned  elaborately  in  sign  that  he 
didn't  care  anything  for  presentiments,  and  throwing 
himself  on  the  bed  went  to  sleep.  During  the  night  he 
shivered  from  time  to  time  without  waking  up.  In  the 
morning  he  rode  out  of  town  between  his  two  seconds, 
talking  of  indifferent  things,  and  looking  right  and  left 
with  apparent  detachment  into  the  heavy  morning 
mists  shrouding  the  flat  green  fields  bordered  by 
hedges.  He  leaped  a  ditch,  and  saw  the  forms  of 
many  mounted  men  moving  in  the  fog.  "We  are  to 
fight  before  a  gallery,  it  seems,"  he  muttered  to  himself 
bitterly. 

His  seconds  were  rather  concerned  at  the  state  of 
the  atmosphere,  but  presently  a  pale,  sickly  sun  strug- 
gled out  of  the  low  vapours,  and  Captain  D'Hubert 
made  out,  in  the  distance,  three  horsemen  riding  a  little 
apart  from  the  others.    It  was  Captain  Feraud  and 


256  A  SET  OF  SIX 

his  seconds.  He  drew  his  sabre,  and  assured  himself 
that  it  was  properly  fastened  to  his  wrist.  And  now 
the  seconds,  who  had  been  standing  in  close  group  with 
the  heads  of  their  horses  together,  separated  at  an  easy 
canter,  leaving  a  large,  clear  field  between  him  and  his 
adversary.  Captain  D 'Hubert  looked  at  the  pale  sun, 
at  the  dismal  fields,  and  the  imbecility  of  the  impending 
fight  filled  him  with  desolation.  From  a  distant  part  of 
the  field  a  stentorian  voice  shouted  commands  at  proper 
intervals:  Au  pas — Autrot — Charrrgezi  .  .  .  Pre- 
sentiments of  death  don't  come  to  a  man  for  nothing,  he 
thought  at  the  very  moment  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse. 

And  therefore  he  was  more  than  surprised  when,  at 
the  very  first  set-to,  Captain  Feraud  lad  himself  open 
to  a  cut  over  the  forehead,  which,  blinding  him  with 
blood,  ended  the  combat  almost  before  it  had  fairly 
begun.  It  was  impossible  to  go  on.  Captain  D'Hu- 
bert,  leaving  his  enemy  swearing  horribly  and  reeling  in 
the  saddle  between  his  two  appalled  friends,  leaped  the 
ditch  again  into  the  road  and  trotted  home  with  his 
two  seconds,  who  seemed  rather  awestruck  at  the 
speedy  issue  of  that  encounter.  In  the  evening  Cap- 
tain D'Hubert  finished  the  congratulatory  letter  on 
his  sister's  marriage. 

He  finished  it  late.  It  was  a  long  letter.  Captain 
D'Hubert  gave  reins  to  his  fancy.  He  told  his  sister 
that  he  would  feel  rather  lonely  after  this  great  change 
in  her  life;  but  then  the  day  would  come  for  him,  too,  to 


THE  DUEL  257 

get  married.  In  fact,  he  was  thinking  already  of  the 
time  when  there  would  be  no  one  left  to  fight  with  in 
Europe,  and  the  epoch  of  wars  would  be  over.  "I 
expect  then,"  he  wrote,  *'to  be  within  measurable  dis- 
tance of  a  marsha/s  baton,  and  you  will  be  an  experi- 
enced married  woman.  You  shall  look  out  a  wife  for 
me.  I  will  be,  probably,  bald  by  then,  and  a  little 
blasS.  I  shall  require  a  young  girl,  pretty  of  course,  and 
with  a  large  fortune,  which  should  help  me  to  close  my 
glorious  career  in  the  splendour  befitting  my  exalted 
rank."  He  ended  with  the  information  that  he  had 
just  given  a  lesson  to  a  worrying,  quarrelsome  fellow 
who  imagined  he  had  a  grievance  against  him.  "But 
if  you,  in  the  depths  of  your  province,"  he  continued, 
"ever  hear  it  said  that  your  brother  is  of  a  quarrelsome 
disposition,  don't  you  believe  it  on  any  account.  There 
is  no  saying  what  gossip  from  the  army  may  reach  your 
innocent  ears.  Whatever  you  hear  you  may  rest  as- 
sured that  your  ever-loving  brother  is  not  a  duellist." 
Then  Captain  D 'Hubert  crumpled  up  the  blank  sheet  of 
paper  headed  with  the  words  "This  is  my  last  will  and 
testament,"  and  threw  it  in  the  fire  with  a  great  laugh 
at  himself.  He  didn't  care  a  snap  for  what  that  lunatic 
could  do.  He  had  suddenly  acquired  the  conviction 
that  his  adversary  was  utterly  powerless  to  affect  his 
life  in  any  sort  of  way;  except,  perhaps,  in  the  way  of 
putting  a  special  excitement  into  the  delightful,  gay 
intervals  between  the  campaigns. 


258  A  SET  OF  SIX 

From  this  on  there  were,  however,  to  be  no  peaceful 
intervals  in  the  career  of  Captain  D'Hubert.  He  saw 
the  fields  of  Eylau  and  Friedland,  marched  and  counter- 
marched in  the  snow,  in  the  mud,  in  the  dust  of  Polish 
plains,  picking  up  distinction  and  advancement  on  all 
the  roads  of  Northeastern  Europe.  Meantime  Captain 
Feraud,  dispatched  southward  with  his  regiment,  made 
unsatisfactory  war  in  Spain.  It  was  only  when  the 
preparations  for  the  Russian  campaign  began  that  he 
was  ordered  north  again.  He  left  the  country  of  man- 
tillas and  oranges  without  regret. 

The  first  signs  of  a  not  unbecoming  baldness  added 
to  the  lofty  aspect  of  Colonel  D 'Hubert's  forehead. 
This  feature  was  no  longer  white  and  smooth  as  in  the 
days  of  his  youth;  the  kindly  open  glance  of  his  blue 
eyes  had  grown  a  little  hard  as  if  from  much  peering 
through  the  smoke  of  battles.  The  ebony  crop  on 
Colonel  Feraud's  head,  coarse  and  crinkly  like  a  cap  of 
horsehair,  showed  many  silver  threads  about  the  tem- 
ples. A  detestable  warfare  of  ambushes  and  inglorious 
surprises  had  not  improved  his  temper.  The  beaklike 
curve  of  his  nose  was  unpleasantly  set  off  by  a  deep  fold 
on  each  side  of  his  mouth.  The  round  orbits  of  his  eyes 
radiated  wrinkles.  More  than  ever  he  recalled  an 
irritable  and  staring  bird — something  like  a  cross  be- 
tween a  parrot  and  an  owl.  He  was  still  extremely 
outspoken  in  his  dislike  of  "intriguing  fellows."  He 
seized  every  opportunity  to  state  that  he  did  not  pick 


THE  DUEL  259 

up  his  rank  in  the  anterooms  of  marshals.  The  un- 
lucky persons,  civil  or  military,  who,  with  an  intention 
of  being  pleasant  begged  Colonel  Feraud  to  tell  them 
how  he  came  by  that  very  apparent  scar  on  the  forehead, 
were  astonished  to  find  themselves  snubbed  in  various 
ways,  some  of  which  were  simply  rude  and  others  mys- 
teriously sardonic.  Young  officers  were  warned  kindly 
by  their  m.ore  experienced  comrades  not  to  stare  openly 
at  the  colonel's  scar.  But  indeed  an  officer  need  have 
been  very  young  in  his  profession  not  to  have  heard  the 
legendary  tale  of  that  duel  originating  in  a  mysterious, 
unforgivable  offence. 

Ill 

The  retreat  from  Moscow  submerged  all  private 
feelings  in  a  sea  of  disaster  and  misery.  Colonels 
without  regiments,  D 'Hubert  and  Feraud  carried  the 
musket  in  the  ranks  of  the  so-called  sacred  battalion — a 
battalion  recruited  from  officers  of  all  arms  who  had  no 
longer  any  troops  to  lead. 

In  that  battalion  promoted  colonels  did  duty  as 
sergeants;  the  generals  captained  the  companies;  a 
marshal  of  France,  Prince  of  the  Empire,  commanded 
the  whole.  All  had  provided  themselves  with  muskets 
picked  up  on  the  road,  and  with  cartridges  taken  from 
the  dead.  In  the  general  destruction  of  the  bonds  of 
discipline  and  duty  holding  together  the  companies,  the 
battalions,  the  regiments,  the  brigades,  and  divisions  of 


2C0  A  SET  OF  SIX 

an  armed  host,  this  body  of  men  put  its  pride  in  pre- 
serving some  semblance  of  order  and  formation.  The 
only  stragglers  were  those  who  fell  out  to  give  up  to  the 
frost  their  exhausted  souls.  They  plodded  on,  and  their 
passage  did  not  disturb  the  mortal  silence  of  the  plains, 
shining  with  the  livid  1  ght  of  snows  under  a  sky  the 
colour  of  ashes.  Whirlwinds  ran  along  the  fields,  broke 
against  the  dark  column,  enveloped  it  in  a  turmoil  of 
flying  icicles,  and  subsided,  disclosing  it  creeping  on  its 
tragic  way  without  the  swing  and  rhythm  of  the  mili- 
tary pace.  It  struggled  onward,  the  men  exchanging 
neither  word  nor  looks;  whole  ranks  marched  touching 
elbow,  day  after  day,  and  never  raising  their  eyes  from 
the  ground,  as  if  lost  in  despairing  reflections.  In  the 
dumb,  black  forests  of  pines  the  cracking  of  overloaded 
branches  was  the  only  sound  they  heard.  Often  from 
daybreak  to  dusk  no  one  spoke  in  the  whole  column. 
It  was  like  a  macabre  march  of  struggling  corpses 
toward  a  distant  grave.  Only  an  alarm  of  Cossacks 
could  restore  to  their  eyes  a  semblance  of  martial  resolu- 
tion. The  battalion  faced  about  and  deployed,  or 
formed  square  under  the  endless  fluttering  of  snowflakes. 
A  cloud  of  horsemen  with  fur  caps  on  their  heads 
levelled  long  lances,  and  yelled  "Hurrah!  Hurrah!" 
around  their  menacing  immobility  whence,  with  muf- 
fled detonations,  hundreds  of  dark  red  flames  darted 
through  the  air  thick  with  falling  snow.  In  a  very  few 
moments  the  horsemen  would  disappear,  as  if  carried 


THE  DUEL  2GI 

off  yelling  in  the  gale,  and  the  sacred  battalion  standing 
still,  alone  in  the  blizzard,  heard  only  the  howling  of 
the  wind,  whose  blasts  searched  their  very  hearts. 
Then,  with  a  cry  or  two  of  Vive  VEmpereurl  it  would 
resume  its  march,  leaving  behind  a  few  lifeless  bodies 
lying  huddled  up,  tiny  black  specks  on  the  white  im- 
mensity of  the  snows. 

Though  often  marching  in  the  ranks,  or  skirmishing 
in  the  woods  side  by  side,  the  two  olBScers  ignored  each 
other;  this  not  so  much  from  inimical  intention  as  from 
a  very  real  indifference.  All  their  store  of  moral  en- 
ergy was  expended  in  resisting  the  terrific  enmity  of 
nature  and  the  crushing  sense  of  irretrievable  disaster. 
To  the  last  they  counted  among  the  most  active,  the 
least  demoralized  of  the  battalion;  their  vigorous  vital- 
ity invested  them  both  with  the  appearance  of  an 
heroic  pair  in  the  eyes  of  their  comrades.  And  they 
never  exchanged  more  than  a  casual  word  or  two,  ex- 
cept one  day,  when  skirmishing  in  front  of  the  battalion 
against  a  worrying  attack  of  cavalry,  they  found  them- 
selves cut  off  in  the  woods  by  a  small  party  of  Cossacks, 
A  score  of  fur-capped,  hairy  horsemen  rode  to  and  fro, 
brandishing  their  lances  in  ominous  silence;  but  the 
two  officers  had  no  mind  to  lay  down  their  arms,  and 
Colonel  Feraud  suddenly  spoke  up  in  a  hoarse,  growling 
voice,  bringing  his  firelock  to  the  shoulder:  "You 
take  the  nearest  brute.  Colonel  D'Hubert;  I'll  settle 
the  next  one.     I  am  a  better  shot  than  you  are." 


262  A  SET  OF  SIX 

Colonel  D'Hubert  nodded  over  his  levelled  musket. 
Their  shoulders  were  pressed  against  the  trunk  of  a 
large  tree;  on  their  front  enormous  snowdrifts  protected 
them  from  a  direct  charge.  Two  carefully  aimed  shots 
rang  out  in  the  frosty  air,  two  Cossacks  reeled  in  their 
saddles.  The  rest,  not  thinking  the  game  good  enough, 
closed  round  their  wounded  comrades  and  galloped 
away  out  of  range.  The  two  officers  managed  to  rejoin 
their  battalion  halted  for  the  night.  During  that  after- 
noon they  had  leaned  upon  each  other  more  than  once, 
and  toward  the  end.  Colonel  D'Hubert,  whose  long 
legs  gave  him  an  advantage  in  walking  through  soft 
snow,  peremptorily  took  the  musket  of  Colonel  Feraud 
from  him  and  carried  it  on  his  shoulder,  using  his  own 
as  a  staff. 

On  the  outskirts  of  a  village  half  buried  in  the  snow 
an  old  wooden  barn  burned  with  a  clear  and  an  immense 
flame.  The  sacred  battalion  of  skeletons,  muffled  in 
rags,  crowded  greedily  the  windward  side,  stretching 
hundreds  of  numbed,  bony  hands  to  the  blaze.  Nobody 
had  noted  their  approach.  Before  entering  the  circle  of 
light  playing  on  the  sunken,  glassy-eyed,  starved  faces, 
Colonel  D'Hubert  spoke  in  his  turn: 

"Here's  your  musket.  Colonel  Feraud.  I  can  walk 
better  than  you." 

Colonel  Feraud  nodded,  and  pushed  on  toward  the 
warmth  of  the  fierce  flames.  Colonel  D'Hubert  was 
more  dehberate,  but  not  the  less  bent  on  getting  a  place 


THE  DUEL  263 

in  the  front  rank.  Those  they  shouldered  aside  tried  to 
greet  with  a  faint  cheer  the  reappearance  of  the  two 
indomitable  compan'ons  in  activity  and  endurance. 
Those  manly  qualities  had  never  perhaps  received  a 
higher  tribute  than  this  feeble  acclamation. 

This  is  the  faithful  record  of  speeches  exchanged 
during  the  retreat  from  Moscow  by  Colonels  Feraud 
and  D'Hubert.  Colonel  Feraud's  taciturnity  was  the 
outcome  of  concentrated  rage.  Short,  hairy,  black- 
faced,  with  layers  of  grime  and  the  thick  sprouting  of  a 
wiry  beard,  a  frost-bitten  hand  wrapped  up  in  filthy 
rags  carried  in  a  sling,  he  accused  fate  of  unparalleled 
perfidy  toward  the  sublime  Man  of  Destiny.  Colonel 
D'Hubert,  his  long  moustaches  pendent  in  icicles  on 
each  side  of  his  cracked  blue  lips,  his  eyelids  inflamed 
with  the  glare  of  snows,  the  principal  part  of  his  cos- 
tume consisting  of  a  sheepskin  coat  looted  with  difficulty 
from  the  frozen  corpse  of  a  camp  follower  found  in  an 
abandoned  cart,  took  a  more  thoughtful  view  of  events. 
His  regularly  handsome  features,  now  reduced  to  mere 
bony  lines  and  fleshless  hollows,  looked  out  of  a  woman's 
black  velvet  hood,  over  which  was  rammed  forcibly  a 
cocked  hat  picked  up  under  the  wheels  of  an  empty 
army  fourgon,  which  must  have  contained  at  one  time 
some  general  officer's  luggage.  The  sheepskin  coat 
being  short  for  a  man  of  his  inches  ended  very  high  up, 
and  the  skin  of  his  legs  blue  with  the  cold  showed 
through   the   tatters   of   his   nether   garments.      This 


264  A  SET  OF  SIX 

under  the  circumstances  provoked  neither  jeers  nor 
pity.  No  one  cared  how  the  next  man  felt  or  looked. 
Colonel  D'Hubert  himself,  hardened  to  exposure,  suf- 
fered mainly  in  his  self-respect  from  the  lamentable 
indecency  of  his  costume.  A  thoughtless  person  may 
think  that  with  a  whole  host  of  inanimate  bodies  be- 
strewing the  path  of  retreat  there  could  not  have  been 
much  difficulty  in  supply  ng  the  deficiency.  But  to 
loot  a  pair  of  breeches  from  a  frozen  corpse  is  not  so  easy 
as  it  may  appear  to  a  mere  theorist.  It  requires  time 
and  labour.  You  must  rema  n  behind  while  your 
companions  march  on.  Colonel  D'Hubert  had  his 
scruples  as  to  falling  out.  Once  he  had  stepped  aside 
he  could  not  be  sure  of  ever  rejoin  ng  his  battalion;  and 
the  ghastly  intimacy  of  a  wrestling  match  with  the 
frozen  dead  opposing  the  unyield  ng  rigidity  of  iron 
to  your  violence  was  repugnant  to  the  delicacy  of  his 
feelings.  Luckily,  one  day,  grubbing  in  a  mound  of 
snow  between  the  huts  of  a  village  in  the  hope  of  finding 
there  a  frozen  potato  or  some  vegetable  garbage  he 
could  put  between  his  long  and  shaky  teeth.  Colonel 
D'Hubert  uncovered  a  couple  of  mats  of  the  sort 
Russian  peasants  use  to  line  the  sides  of  their  carts  with. 
These,  beaten  free  of  frozen  snow,  bent  about  his 
elegant  person  and  fastened  solidly  round  his  waist, 
made  a  bellshaped  nether  garment,  a  sort  of  stiff  petti- 
coat, which  rendered  Colonel  D'Hubert  a  perfectly 
decent,  but  a  much  more  noticeable  figure  than  before. 


TPIE  DUEL  265 

Thus  accoutred,  he  continued  to  retreat,  never 
doubting  of  his  personal  escape,  but  full  of  other  mis- 
givings. The  early  buoyancy  of  his  belief  in  the  future 
was  destroyed.  If  the  road  of  glory  led  through  such 
unforeseen  passages,  he  asked  himself — for  he  was 
reflective — whether  the  guide  was  altogether  trust- 
worthy. It  was  a  patriotic  sadness,  not  unmingled 
with  some  personal  concern,  and  quite  unlike  the  un- 
reasoning indignation  against  men  and  things  nursed 
by  Colonel  Feraud.  Recruiting  his  strength  in  a  little 
German  to^Ti  for  three  weeks.  Colonel  D 'Hubert  was 
surprised  to  discover  within  himself  a  love  of  repose. 
His  returning  vigour  was  strangely  pacific  in  its  aspira- 
tions. He  meditated  silently  upon  this  bizarre  change 
of  mood.  No  doubt  many  of  his  brother  oflScers  of 
field  rank  went  through  the  same  moral  experience. 
But  these  were  not  the  times  to  talk  of  it.  In  one  of  his 
letters  home  Colonel  D'Hubert  wrote:  "All  your  plans, 
my  dear  Leonie,  for  marrying  me  to  the  charming  girl 
you  have  discovered  in  your  neighbourhood,  seem 
farther  off  than  ever.  Peace  is  not  yet.  Europe  wants 
another  lesson.  It  will  be  a  hard  task  for  us,  but  it 
shall  be  done,  because  the  Emperor  is  invincible." 

Thus  wrote  Colonel  D'Hubert  from  Pomerania  to 
his  married  sister  L6onie,  settled  in  the  south  of  France. 
And  so  far  the  sentiments  expressed  would  not  have 
been  disowned  by  Colonel  Feraud,  who  wrote  no  let- 
ters to  anybody,  whose  father  had  been  in  life  an  illit- 


^66  A  SET  OF  SIX 

erate  blacksmith,  who  had  no  sister  or  brother,  and 
whom  no  one  desired  ardently  to  pair  off  for  a  life  of 
peace  with  a  charming  young  girl.  But  Colonel  D'Hu- 
bert's  letter  contained  also  some  philosophical  gener- 
alities upon  the  uncertainty  of  all  personal  hopes,  when 
bound  up  entirely  with  the  prestigious  fortune  of  one 
incomparably  great  it  is  true,  yet  still  remaining  but  a 
man  in  his  greatness.  This  view  would  have  appeared 
rank  heresy  to  Colonel  Feraud.  Some  melancholy 
forebodings  of  a  military  kind,  expressed  cautiously, 
would  have  been  pronounced  as  nothing  short  of  high 
treason  by  Colonel  Feraud.  But  Leonie,  the  sister  of 
Colonel  D 'Hubert,  read  them  with  profound  satisfac- 
tion, and,  folding  the  letter  thoughtfully,  remarked  to 
herself  that  "Armand  was  likely  to  prove  eventually 
a  sensible  fellow."  Since  her  marriage  into  a  Southern 
family  she  had  become  a  convinced  believer  in  the  re- 
turn of  the  legitimate  king.  Hopeful  and  anxious,  she 
offered  prayers  night  and  morning,  and  burnt  candles 
in  churches  for  the  safety  and  prosperity  of  her  brother. 
She  had  every  reason  to  suppose  that  her  prayers 
were  heard.  Colonel  D'Hubert  passed  through  Lutzen, 
Bautzen,  and  Leipsic  losing  no  limb,  and  acquiring 
additional  reputation.  Adapting  his  conduct  to  the 
needs  of  that  desperate  time,  he  had  never  voiced  his 
misgivings.  He  concealed  them  under  a  cheerful 
courtesy  of  such  pleasant  character  that  people  were 
inclined  to  ask  themselves  with  wonder  whether  Colonel 


THE  DUEL  267 

D'Hubert  was  aware  of  any  disasters.  Not  only  his 
manners,  but  even  his  glances  remained  untroubled. 
The  steady  amenity  of  his  blue  eyes  disconcerted  all 
grumblers,  and  made  despair  itself  pause. 

This  bearing  was  remarked  favourably  by  the  Em- 
peror himself;  for  Colonel  D'Hubert,  attached  now  to  the 
Major-General's  staff,  came  on  several  occasions  under 
the  imperial  eye.  But  it  exasperated  the  higher  strung 
nature  of  Colonel  Feraud.  Passing  through  Magdeburg 
on  service,  this  last  allowed  himself,  while  seated  gloomily 
at  dinner  with  the  Commandant  de  Place,  to  say  of  his  life- 
long adversary :  * '  This  man  does  not  love  the  Emperor, ' ' 
and  his  words  were  received  by  the  other  guests  in  pro- 
found silence.  Colonel  Feraud,  troubled  in  his  conscience 
at  the  atrocity  of  the  aspersion,  felt  the  need  to  back 
it  up  by  a  good  argument.  "I  ought  to  know  him,"  he 
cried,  adding  some  oaths.  "  One  studies  one's  adversary. 
I  have  met  him  on  the  ground  half  a  dozen  times,  as  all 
the  army  knows.  What  more  do  you  want?  If  that 
isn't  opportunity  enough  for  any  fool  to  size  up  his 
man,  may  the  devil  take  me  if  I  can  tell  what  is."  And 
he  looked  around  the  table  obstinate  and  sombre. 

Later  on  in  Paris,  while  extremely  busy  reorganizing 
his  regiment.  Colonel  Feraud  learned  that  Colonel 
D'Hubert  had  been  made  a  general.  He  glared  at  his 
informant  incredulously,  then  folded  his  arms  and 
turned  away  muttering:  "Nothing  surprises  me  on  the 
part  of  that  man." 


A  SET  OF  SIX 

And  aloud  he  added,  speaking  over  his  shoulder: 
"You  would  oblige  me  greatly  by  telling  General 
D'Hubert  at  the  first  opportunity  that  his  advancement 
saves  him  for  a  time  from  a  pretty  hot  encounter.  I 
was  only  waiting  for  him  to  turn  up  here." 

The  other  oflScer  remonstrated : 

"Could  you  think  of  it,  Colonel  Feraud,  at  this  time, 
when  every  life  should  be  consecrated  to  the  glory  and 
safety  of  France?" 

But  the  strain  of  unhappiness  caused  by  military  re- 
verses had  spoiled  Colonel  Feraud's  character.  Like 
many  other  men,  he  was  rendered  wicked  by  misfortune. 

"I  cannot  consider  General  D'Hubert's  existence  of 
any  account  either  for  the  glory  or  safety  of  France," 
he  snapped  viciously.  "You  don't  pretend,  perhaps,  to 
know  him  better  than  I  do — I  who  have  met  him  half  a 
dozen  times  on  the  ground — do  you.''" 

His  interlocutor,  a  young  man,  was  silenced.  Colonel 
Feraud  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

"This  is  not  the  time  to  mince  matters,"  he  said.  "I 
can't  believe  that  that  man  ever  loved  the  Emperor. 
He  picked  up  his  general's  stars  under  the  boots  of 
Marshal  Berthier.  Very  well.  I'll  get  mine  in  another 
fashion,  and  then  we  shall  settle  this  business  which 
has  been  dragging  on  too  long." 

General  D'Hubert,  informed  indirectly  of  Colonel 
Feraud's  attitude,  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  put  aside  an 
importunate  person.     His  thoughts  were  solicited  by 


THE  DUEL  269 

graver  cares.  He  had  had  no  time  to  go  and  see  his 
family.  His  sister,  whose  royahst  hopes  were  rising 
higher  every  day,  though  proud  of  her  brother,  re- 
gretted his  recent  advancement  in  a  measure,  because 
it  put  on  him  a  prominent  mark  of  the  usurper's  favour, 
which  later  on  could  have  an  adverse  influence  upon 
his  career.  He  wrote  to  her  that  no  one  but  an  inveter- 
ate enemy  could  say  he  had  got  his  promotion  by  favour. 
As  to  his  career,  he  assured  her  that  he  looked  no 
farther  forward  into  the  future  than  the  next  battle- 
field. 

Beginning  the  campaign  of  France  in  this  dogged 
spirit,  General  D'Hubert  was  wounded  on  the  second 
day  of  the  battle  under  Laon.  While  being  carried  off 
the  field  he  heard  that  Colonel  Feraud,  promoted  this 
moment  to  general,  had  been  sent  to  replace  him  at  the 
head  of  his  brigade.  He  cursed  his  luck  impulsively, 
not  being  able  at  first  glance  to  discern  all  the  ad- 
vantages o  a  nasty  wound.  And  yet  it  was  by  this 
heroic  method  that  Providence  was  shaping  his  future. 
Travelling  slowly  south  to  his  sister's  country  home, 
under  the  care  of  a  trusty  old  servent.  General  D'Hu- 
bert was  spared  the  humiliating  contacts  and  the 
perplexities  of  conduct  which  assailed  the  men  of  Napo- 
leonic empire  at  the  moment  of  its  downfall.  Lying 
in  his  bed,  with  the  windows  of  his  room  open  wide  to 
the  sunshine  of  Provence,  he  perceived  the  undisguised 
aspect  of  the  blessing  conveyed  by  that  jagged  fragment 


270  A  SET  OF  SIX 

of  a  Prussian  shell,  which,  kilhng  his  horse  and  ripping 
open  his  thigh,  saved  him  from  an  active  conflict  with  his 
conscience.  After  the  last  fourteen  years  spent  sword 
in  hand  in  the  saddle,  and  with  the  sense  of  his  duty 
done  to  the  very  end.  General  D'Hubert  found  resig- 
nation an  easy  virtue.  His  sister  was  delighted  with 
his  reasonableness.  "I  leave  myself  altogether  in  your 
hands,  my  dear  Leonie,"  he  had  said  to  her. 

He  was  still  laid  up  when,  the  credit  of  his  brother- 
in-law's  family  being  exerted  on  his  behalf,  he  received 
from  the  royal  government  not  only  the  confirmation 
of  his  rank,  but  the  assurance  of  being  retained  on  the 
active  list.  To  this  was  added  an  unlimited  conva- 
lescent leave.  The  unfavourable  opinion  entertained 
of  him  in  Bonapartist  circles,  though  it  rested  on  nothing 
more  solid  than  the  unsupported  pronouncement  of 
General  Feraud,  was  directly  responsible  for  General 
D'Hubert's  retention  on  the  active  list.  As  to  General 
Feraud,  his  rank  was  confirmed,  too.  It  was  more  than 
he  dared  to  expect;  but  Marshal  Soult,  then  Minister 
of  War  to  the  restored  king,  was  partial  to  officers  who 
had  served  in  Spain.  Only  not  even  the  marshal's 
protection  could  secure  for  him  active  employment. 
He  remained  irreconcilable,  idle,  and  sinister.  He 
sought  in  obscure  restaurants  the  company  of  other 
half-pay  officers  who  cherished  dingy  but  glorious  old 
tricolour  cockades  in  their  breast-pockets,  and  buttoned 
with  the  forbidden  eagle  buttons  their  shabby  uniforms. 


THE  DUEL  271 

declaring  themselves  too  poor  to  afiford  the  expense  of 
the  prescribed  change. 

The  triumphant  return  from  Elba,  a  historical  fact 
as  marvellous  and  incredible  as  the  exploits  of  some 
mythological  demi-god,  found  General  D'Hubert  still 
quite  unable  to  sit  a  horse.  Neither  could  he  walk 
very  well.  These  disabilities,  which  Madame  Leonie 
accounted  most  lucky,  helped  to  keep  her  brother  out 
of  all  possible  mischief.  His  frame  of  mind  at  that 
time,  she  noted  with  dismay,  became  very  far  from 
reasonable.  This  general  officer,  still  menaced  by  the 
loss  of  a  limb,  was  discovered  one  night  in  the  stables  of 
the  chateau  by  a  groom,  who,  seeing  a  light,  raised  an 
alarm  of  thieves.  His  crutch  was  lying  half-buried  in 
the  straw  of  the  litter,  and  the  General  was  hopping  on 
one  leg  in  a  loose  box  around  a  snorting  horse  he  was 
trying  to  saddle.  Such  were  the  effects  of  imperial  magic 
upon  a  calm  temperament  and  a  pondered  mind.  Beset 
in  the  light  of  stable  lanterns,  by  the  tears,  entreaties, 
indignation,  remonstrances,  and  reproaches  of  his  family, 
he  got  out  of  the  difficult  situation  by  fainting  away  there 
and  then  in  the  arms  of  his  nearest  relatives,  and  was 
carried  off  to  bed.  Before  he  got  out  of  it  again,  the 
second  reign  of  Napoleon,  the  Hundred  Days  of  fever- 
ish agitation  and  supreme  effort,  passed  away  like  a 
terrifying  dream.  The  tragic  year  of  1815,  begun  in 
the  trouble  and  unrest  of  consciences,  was  ending  in 
vengeful  proscriptions. 


27^2  A  SET  OF  SIX 

How  General  Feraud  escaped  the  clutches  of  the 
Special  Commission  and  the  last  offices  of  a  firing  squad 
he  never  knew  himself.  It  was  partly  due  to  the 
subordinate  position  he  was  assigned  during  the  Hun- 
dred Days.  The  Emperor  had  never  given  him  ac- 
tive command,  but  had  kept  him  busy  at  the  cavalry 
depot  in  Paris,  mounting  and  dispatching  hastily  drilled 
troopers  into  the  field.  Considering  this  task  as  un- 
worthy of  his  abilities,  he  had  discharged  it  with  no 
offensively  noticeable  zeal;  but  for  the  greater  part  he 
was  saved  from  the  excesses  of  royalist  reaction  by  the 
interference  of  General  D 'Hubert. 

This  last,  still  on  convalescent  leave,  but  able  now 
to  travel,  had  been  dispatched  by  his  sister  to  Paris 
to  present  himself  to  his  legitimate  sovereign.  As  no 
one  in  the  capital  could  possibly  know  anything  of  the 
episode  in  the  stable,  he  was  received  there  with  dis- 
tinction. Military  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  soul,  the 
prospect  of  rising  in  his  profession  consoled  him  from 
finding  himself  the  butt  of  Bonapartist  malevolence, 
which  pursued  him  with  a  persistence  he  could  not 
account  for.  All  the  rancour  of  that  embittered  and 
persecuted  party  pointed  to  h  m  as  the  man  who  had 
never  loved  the  Emperor — a  sort  of  monster  essentially 
worse  than  a  mere  betrayer. 

General  D'Hubert  shrugged  his  shoulders  without 
anger  at  this  ferocious  prejudice.  Rejected  by  his  old 
friends,  and  mistrusting  profoundly  the  advances  of 


THE  DUEL  273 

Royalist  society,  the  young  and  handsome  General  (he 
was  barely  forty)  adopted  a  manner  of  cold,  punctilious 
courtesy,  which  at  the  merest  shadow  of  an  intended 
slight  passed  easily  into  harsh  haughtiness.  Thu-, 
prepared,  General  D'Hubert  went  about  his  affairs  iu 
Paris  feeling  inwardly  very  happy  wuth  the  peculiar  up- 
lifting happiness  of  a  man  very  much  in  love.  The 
charming  girl  looked  out  by  his  sister  had  come  upon 
the  scene,  and  had  conquered  him  in  the  thorough 
manner  in  which  a  young  girl  by  merely  existing  in  his 
sight  can  make  a  man  of  forty  her  own.  They  were 
going  to  be  married  as  soon  as  General  D'Hubert  had 
obtained  his  official  nomination  to  a  promised  command. 
One  afternoon,  sitting  on  the  terrasse  of  the  CafS 
Tortonif  General  D'Hubert  learned  from  the  conver- 
sation of  two  strangers  occupying  a  table  near  his  own 
that  General  Feraud,  included  in  the  batch  of  superior 
officers  arrested  after  the  second  return  of  the  king,  was 
in  danger  of  passing  before  the  Special  Commission. 
Living  all  his  spare  moments,  as  is  frequently  the  case 
with  expectant  lovers,  a  day  in  advance  of  reality,  and 
in  a  state  of  bestarred  hallucination,  it  required  nothing 
less  than  the  name  of  his  perpetual  antagonist  pro- 
nounced in  a  loud  voice  to  call  the  youngest  of  Napo- 
leon's generals  away  from  the  mental  contemplation 
of  his  betrothed.  He  looked  round.  The  strangers 
wore  civilian  clothes.  Lean  and  weather-beaten,  lolling 
back  in  their  chairs,  they  scowled  at  people  with  moody 


274  A  SET  OF  SIX 

and  defiant  abstraction  from  under  their  hats  pulled  low 
over  their  eyes.  It  was  not  difiicult  to  recognize  them 
for  two  of  the  compulsorily  retired  officers  of  the  Old 
Guard.  As  from  bravado  or  carelessness  they  chose  to 
speak  in  loud  tones,  General  D 'Hubert,  who  saw  no 
reason  why  he  should  change  his  seat,  heard  every  word. 
They  did  not  seem  to  be  the  personal  friends  of  Gen- 
eral Feraud.  His  name  came  up  amongst  others. 
Hearing  it  repeated,  General  D'Hubert's  tender  antici- 
pations of  a  domestic  future  adorned  with  a  woman's 
grace  were  traversed  by  the  harsh  regret  of  his  warhke 
past,  of  that  one  long,  intoxicating  clash  of  arms,  unique 
in  the  magnitude  of  its  glory  and  disaster — the  marvel- 
lous work  and  the  special  possession  of  his  own  generation. 
He  felt  an  irrational  tenderness  toward  his  old  adver- 
sary, and  appreciated  emotionally  the  murderous  ab- 
surdity their  encounter  had  introduced  into  his  life.  It 
was  like  an  additional  pinch  of  spice  in  a  hot  dish.  He 
remembered  the  flavour  with  sudden  melancholy.  He 
would  never  taste  it  again.  It  was  all  over.  "I  fancy 
it  was  being  left  lying  in  the  garden  that  had  exasper- 
ated him  so  against  me  from  the  first,"  he  thought  in- 
dulgently. 

The  two  strangers  at  the  next  table  had  fallen  silent 
after  the  third  mention  of  General  Feraud's  name.  Pres- 
ently the  elder  of  the  two,  speaking  again  in  a  bitter 
tone,  affirmed  that  General  Feraud's  account  was 
settled.     And  why?     Simply  because  he  was  not  like 


THE  DUEL  275 

some  bigwigs  who  loved  only  themselves.  The  Royal- 
ists knew  they  could  never  make  anything  of  him.  He 
loved  The  Other  too  well. 

The  Other  was  the  man  of  St.  Helena.  The  two 
officers  nodded  and  touched  glasses  before  they  drank 
to  an  impossible  return.  Then  the  same  who  had 
spoken  before  remarked  with  a  sardonic  laugh:  "His 
adversary  showed  more  cleverness." 

"What  adversary.'^"  asked  the  younger,  as  if  puzzled. 

"Don't  you  know.'^  They  were  two  hussars.  At 
each  promotion  they  fought  a  duel.  Haven't  you 
heard  of  a  duel  going  on  ever  since  1801.'*" 

The  other  had  heard  of  the  duel,  of  course.  Now  he 
understood  the  allusion.  General  Baron  D'Hubert 
would  be  able  now  to  enjoy  his  fat  king's  favour  in 
peace. 

"Much  good  it  may  do  him,"  mumbled  the  elder. 
"They  are  both  brave  men.  I  never  saw  this  D'Hu- 
bert— a  sort  of  intriguing  dandy,  I  am  told.  But  I  can 
well  believe  what  I've  heard  Feraud  say  of  him — that 
he  never  loved  the  Emperor." 

They  rose  and  went  away. 

General  D'Hubert  experienced  the  horror  of  a  som- 
nambulist who  wakes  up  from  a  complacent  dream  of 
activity  to  find  himself  walking  on  a  quagmire.  A  pro- 
found disgust  of  the  ground  over  which  he  was  making 
his  way  overcame  him.  Even  the  image  of  the  charm- 
ing girl  was  swept  from  his  view  in  the  flood  of  moral 


276  A  SET  OF  SIX 

distress.  Everything  he  had  ever  been  or  lioped  to  be 
would  taste  of  bitter  ignominy  unless  he  could  manage  to 
save  General  Feraud  from  the  fate  which  threatened  so 
many  braves.  Tinder  the  impulse  of  this  almost 
morbid  need  to  attend  to  the  safety  of  his  adversary. 
General  D'Hubert  worked  so  well  with  his  hands  and 
feet  (as  the  French  saying  is),  that  in  less  than  twenty- 
four  hours  he  found  means  of  obtaining  an  extraordinary 
private  audience  from  the  Minister  of  Police. 

General  Baron  D'Hubert  was  shown  in  suddenly 
without  preliminaries.  In  the  dusk  of  the  Minister's 
cabinet,  behind  the  forms  of  writing-desk,  chairs,  and 
tables,  between  two  bunches  of  wax  candles  blazing  in 
sconces,  he  beheld  a  figure  in  a  gorgeous  coat  posturing 
before  a  tall  mirror.  The  old  conventionnel  Fouch6, 
Senator  of  the  Empire,  traitor  to  every  man,  to  every 
principle  and  motive  of  human  conduct,  Duke  of  Ot- 
ranto,  and  the  wily  artizan  of  the  second  Restoration, 
was  trying  the  fit  of  a  court  suit  in  which  his  young  and 
accomplished  j^anc^e  had  declared  her  intention  to  have 
his  portrait  painted  on  porcelain.  It  was  a  caprice,  a 
charming  fancy  which  the  first  Minister  of  Police  of 
the  second  Restoration  was  anxious  to  gratify.  For 
that  man,  often  compared  in  wiliness  of  conduct  to  a 
fox,  but  whose  ethical  side  could  be  worthily  symbol- 
lized  by  nothing  less  emphatic  than  a  skunk,  was  as 
much  possessed  by  his  love  as  General  D'Hubert  him- 
self. 


THE  DUEL  277 

Startled  to  be  discovered  thus  by  the  blunder  of  a 
servant,  he  met  this  little  vexation  with  the  character- 
istic impudence  which  had  served  his  turn  so  well  in  the 
endless  intrigues  of  his  self-seeking  career.  Without 
altering  his  attitude  a  hair's  breadth,  one  leg  in  a  silk 
stocking  advanced,  his  hand  twisted  over  his  left 
shoulder,  he  called  out  calmly:  "This  way.  General. 
Pray  approach.     Well?    I  am  all  attention." 

While  General  D'Hubert,  ill  at  ease  as  if  one  of  his 
own  little  weaknesses  had  been  exposed,  presented  his 
request  as  shortly  as  possible,  the  Duke  of  Otranto  went 
on  feeling  the  fit  of  his  collar,  settling  the  lapels  before 
the  glass,  and  buckling  his  back  in  an  effort  to  behold 
the  set  of  the  gold-embroidered  coat-skirts  behind.  His 
still  face,  his  attentive  eyes,  could  not  have  expressed  a 
more  complete  interest  in  those  matters  if  he  had  been 
alone. 

"Exclude  from  the  operations  of  the  Special  Court  a 
certain  Feraud,  Gabriel  Florian,  General  of  brigade  of 
the  promotion  of  1814?"  he  repeated,  in  a  slightly 
wondering  tone,  and  then  turned  away  from  the  glass. 
*'  Why  exclude  him  precisely?  " 

"I  am  surprised  that  your  Excellency,  so  competent 
in  the  evaluation  of  men  of  his  time,  should  have 
thought  worth  while  to  have  that  name  put  down  on 
the  list." 

"A  rabid  Bonapartist ! " 

"So  is  every  grenadier  and  every  trooper  of  the  army. 


278  A  SET  OF  SIX 

as  your  Excellency  well  knows.  And  the  individuality 
of  General  Feraud  can  have  no  more  weight  than  that 
of  any  casual  grenadier.  He  is  a  man  of  no  mental 
grasp,  of  no  capacity  whatever.  It  is  inconceivable 
that  he  should  ever  have  any  influence." 

"He  has  a  well-hung  tongue,  though,"  interjected 
Fouche. 

"Noisy,  I  admit,  but  not  dangerous." 

"I  will  not  dispute  with  you.  I  know  next  to  nothing 
of  him.     Hardly  his  name,  in  fact." 

"And  yet  your  Excellency  has  the  presidency  of  the 
Commission  charged  by  the  king  to  point  out  those  who 
were  to  be  tried,"  said  General  D'Hubert,  with  an 
emphasis  which  did  not  miss  the  minister's  ear. 

"Yes,  General,"  he  said,  walking  away  into  the  dark 
part  of  the  vast  room,  and  throwing  himself  into  a  deep 
armchair  that  swallowed  him  up,  all  but  the  soft  gleam 
of  gokl  embroideries  and  the  pallid  patch  of  the  face — 
"yes.  General.     Take  this  chair  there." 

General  D'Hubert  sat  down. 

"Yes,  General,"  continued  the  arch-master  in  the 
arts  of  intrigue  and  betrayals,  whose  duplicity,  as  if  at 
times  intolerable  to  his  self-knowledge,  found  relief  in 
bursts  of  cynical  openness.  "I  did  hurry  on  the  forma- 
tion of  the  proscribing  Commission,  and  I  took  its  pres- 
idency. And  do  you  know  why?  Simply  from  fear 
that  if  I  did  not  take  it  quickly  into  my  hands  my 
own  name  would  head  the  Ust  of  the  proscribed.     Such 


THE  DUEL  279 

are  the  times  in  which  we  live.  But  I  am  minister  of 
the  king  yet,  and  I  ask  you  plainly  why  I  should  take 
the  name  of  this  obscure  Feraud  ofiF  the  list?  You 
wonder  how  his  name  got  there!  Is  it  possible  that  you 
should  know  men  so  little?  My  dear  General,  at  the 
very  first  sitting  of  the  Commission  names  poured  on  us 
like  rain  off  the  roof  of  the  Tuileries.  Names!  We 
had  our  choice  of  thousands.  How  do  you  know  the 
the  name  of  this  Feraud,  whose  life  or  death  don't 
matter  to  France,  does  not  keep  out  some  other  name?" 

The  voice  out  of  the  armchair  stopped.  Opposite 
General  D'Hubert  sat  still,  shadowy  and  silent.  Only 
his  sabre  clinked  slightly.  The  voice  in  the  armchair 
began  again:  "And  we  must  try  to  satisfy  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  Allied  Sovereigns,  too.  The  Prince  de 
Talleyrand  told  me  only  yesterday  that  Nesselrode  had 
informed  him  officially  of  His  Majesty  the  Emperor 
Alexander's  dissatisfaction  at  the  small  number  of  ex- 
amples the  Government  of  the  king  intends  to  make — 
especially  amongst  military  men.  I  tell  you  this  con- 
fidentially." 

"Upon  my  word!"  broke  out  General  D'Hubert, 
speaking  through  his  teeth,  "if  your  Excellency  deigns 
to  favour  me  with  any  more  confidential  information  I 
don't  know  what  I  will  do.  It's  enough  to  break  one's 
sword  over  one's  knee,  and  fling  the  pieces     .     .     .'* 

"What  government  you  imagined  yourself  to  be 
serving?"  interrupted  the  minister  sharply. 


280  A  SET  OF  SIX 

After  a  short  pause  the  crestfallen  voice  of  General 
D'Hubert  answered,  "The  Government  of  France." 

"That's  paying  your  conscience  off  with  mere  words, 
General.  The  truth  is  that  you  are  serving  a  govern- 
ment of  returned  exiles,  of  men  who  have  been  without 
country  for  twenty  years.  Of  men  also  who  have  just  got 
over  a  very  bad  and  humiliating  fright.  .  .  .  Have 
no  illusions  on  that  score." 

The  Duke  of  Otranto  ceased.  He  had  relieved  him- 
self, and  had  attained  his  object  of  stripping  some  self- 
respect  off  that  man  who  had  inconveniently  discovered 
him  posturing  in  a  gold-embroidered  court  costume 
before  a  mirror.  But  they  were  a  hot-headed  lot  in  the 
army;  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  inconvenient 
if  a  well-disposed  general  officer,  received  in  audience 
on  the  recommendation  of  one  of  the  Princes,  were  to 
do  something  rashly  scandalous  directly  after  a  private 
interview  with  the  minister.  In  a  changed  tone  he  put 
a  question  to  the  point :     "Your  relation — this  Feraud?" 

"No.     No  relation  at  all." 

" Intimate  friend?  " 

"Intimate  .  .  .  yes.  There  is  between  us  an 
intimate  connection  of  a  nature  which  makes  it  a  point 
of  honour  with  me  to  try     .     .     ." 

The  minister  rang  a  bell  without  waiting  for  the  end 
of  the  phrase.  When  the  servant  had  gone  out,  after 
bringing  in  a  pair  of  heavy  silver  candelabra  for  the 
writing-desk,  the  Duke  of  Otranto  rose,  his  breast  glis- 


THE  DUEL  281 

tening  all  over  with  gold  in  the  strong  light,  and  taking 
a  piece  of  paper  out  of  a  drawer,  held  it  in  his  hand 
ostentatiously  while  he  said  with  persuasive  gentle- 
ness: "You  must  not  speak  of  breaking  your  sword 
across  your  knee,  General.  Perhaps  you  would  never 
get  another.  The  Emperor  will  not  return  this  time. 
.  .  .  Diahle  dliomme!  There  was  just  a  moment, 
here  in  Paris,  soon  after  Waterloo,  when  he  frightened 
me.  It  looked  as  though  he  were  ready  to  begin  all  over 
again.  Luckily  one  never  does  begin  all  over  again, 
really.  You  must  not  think  of  breaking  your  sword. 
General." 

General  D'Hubert,  looking  on  the  ground,  moved 
slightly  his  hand  in  a  hopeless  gesture  of  renunciation. 
The  Minister  of  Police  turned  his  eyes  away  from  him, 
and  scanned  deliberately  the  paper  he  had  been  holding 
up  all  the  time. 

"There  are  only  twenty  general  officers  selected  to  be 
made  an  example  of.  Twenty.  A  round  number. 
And  let's  see,  Feraud.  .  .  .  Ah,  he's  there.  Gabriel 
Florian.  Parfaitement.  That's  your  man.  Well,  there 
will  be  only  nineteen  examples  made  now." 

General  D'Hubert  stood  up  feeling  as  though  he 
had  gone  through  an  infectious  illness.  "I  must  beg 
your  Excellency  to  keep  my  interference  a  profound 
secret.  I  attach  the  greatest  importance  to  his  never 
learning     .     .     ." 

"Who  is  going  to  inform  him,  I  should  like  to  know?" 


282  A  SET  OF  SIX 

said  Fouch6,  raising  his  eyes  curiously  to  General  D'Hu- 
bert's  tense,  set  face.  "Take  one  of  these  pens,  and 
run  it  through  the  name  yourself.  This  is  the  only 
list  in  existence.  If  you  are  careful  to  take  up  enough 
ink  no  one  will  be  able  to  tell  what  was  the  name  struck 
out.  But,  far  exemple,  I  am  not  responsible  for  what 
Clarke  will  do  with  him  afterward.  If  he  persists  in 
being  rabid  he  will  be  ordered  by  the  Minister  of  War  to 
reside  in  some  provincial  town  under  the  supervision  cf 
the  police." 

A  few  days  later  General  D'Hubert  was  saying  to  his 
sister,  after  the  first  greetings  had  been  got  over:  "Ah, 
my  dear  Leonie!  it  seemed  to  me  I  couldn't  get  away 
from  Paris  quick  enough." 

"Effect  of  love,"  she  suggested,  with  a  malicious 
smile. 

*'And  horror,"  added  General  D'Hubert,  with  pro- 
found seriousness.  "  I  have  nearly  died  there  of  .  .  . 
of  nausea." 

His  face  was  contracted  with  disgust.  And  as  his 
sister  looked  at  him  attentively,  he  continued:  "I  have 
had  to  see  Fouche.  I  have  had  an  audience.  I  have 
been  in  his  cabinet.  There  remains  with  one,  who  had 
the  misfortune  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  same  room  with 
that  man,  a  sense  of  diminished  dignity,  an  uneasy  feel- 
ing of  being  not  so  clean,  after  all,  as  one  hoped  one  was. 
.     .     .     But  you  can't  understand." 

She  nodded  quickly  several  times.     She  understood 


THE  DUEL  283 

very  well  on  the  contrary.  She  knew  her  brother 
thoroughly,  and  liked  him  as  he  was.  Moreover,  the 
scorn  and  loathing  of  mankind  were  the  lot  of  the 
Jacobin  Fouche,  who,  exploiting  for  his  own  advantage 
every  weakness,  every  virtue,  every  generous  illusion  of 
mankind,  made  dupes  of  his  whole  generation,  and  died 
obscurely  as  Duke  of  Otranto. 

*'My  dear  Armand,"  she  said  compassionately,  "what 
could  you  want  from  that  man?" 

"Nothing  less  than  a  life,"  answered  General  D'Hu- 
bert.  "And  I've  got  it.  It  had  to  be  done.  But  I  feel 
yet  as  if  I  could  never  forgive  the  necessity  to  the  man  I 
had  to  save." 

General  Feraud,  totally  unable  (as  is  the  case  with 
most  of  us)  to  comprehend  what  was  happening  to  him, 
received  the  Minister  of  War's  order  to  proceed  at  once 
to  a  small  town  of  Central  France  with  feelings  whose 
natural  expression  consisted  in  a  fierce  rolling  of  the  eye 
and  savage  grinding  of  the  teeth.  The  passing  away  of 
the  state  of  war,  the  only  condition  of  society  he  had 
ever  known,  the  horrible  view  of  a  world  at  peace, 
frightened  him.  He  went  away  to  his  little  town  firmly 
convinced  that  this  could  not  last.  There  he  was  in- 
formed of  his  retirement  from  the  army,  and  that  his 
pension  (calculated  on  the  scale  of  a  colonel's  rank)  was 
made  dependent  on  the  correctness  of  his  conduct,  and 
on  the  good  reports  of  the  police.  No  longer  in  the 
army !    He  felt  suddenly  strange  to  the  earth,  like  a  dis- 


284  A  SET  OF  SIX 

embodied  spirit.  It  was  impassible  to  exist.  But  at 
first  he  reacted  from  sheer  increduhty.  This  could  not 
be.  He  waited  for  thunder,  earthquakes,  natural  cat- 
aclysms; but  nothing  happened.  The  leaden  weight  of 
an  irremediable  idleness  descended  upon  General  Fe- 
raud,  who  having  no  resources  within  himself  sank 
into  a  state  of  awe-inspiring  hebetude.  He  haunted 
the  streets  of  the  little  town,  gazing  before  him  with 
lack-lustre  eyes,  disregarding  the  hats  raised  on  his 
passage;  and  people,  nudging  each  other  as  he  went  by, 
whispered:  "That's  poor  General  Feraud.  His  heart 
is  broken.     Behold  how  he  loved  the  Emperor." 

The  other  living  wreckage  of  Napoleonic  tempest 
clustered  round  General  Feraud  with  infinite  respect. 
He,  himself,  imagined  his  soul  to  be  crushed  by  grief. 
He  suffered  from  quickly  succeeding  impulses  to  weep, 
to  howl,  to  bite  his  fists  till  blood  came,  to  spend  days 
on  his  bed  with  his  head  thrust  under  the  pillow;  but 
these  arose  from  sheer  ennui,  from  the  anguish  of  an 
immense,  indescribable,  inconceivable  boredom.  His 
mental  inability  to  grasp  the  hopeless  nature  of  his  case 
as  a  whole  saved  him  from  suicide.  He  never  even 
thought  of  it  once.  He  thought  of  nothing.  But  his 
appetite  abandoned  him,  and  the  difficulty  he  experi- 
enced to  express  the  overwhelming  nature  of  his  feel- 
ings (the  most  furious  swearing  could  do  no  justice  to  it) 
induced  gradually  a  habit  of  silence — a  sort  of  death  to 
a  southern  temperament. 


THE  DUEL  285 

Great,  therefore,  was  the  sensation  amongst  the 
anciens  militaires  frequenting  a  certain  httle  cafe  full  of 
flies,  when  one  stuffy  afternoon  "that  poor  General 
Feraud"  let  out  suddenly  a  volley  of  formidable  curses. 

He  had  been  sitting  quietly  in  his  own  privileged 
corner  looking  through  the  Paris  gazettes  with  just  as 
much  interest  as  a  condemned  man  on  the  eve  of  execu- 
tion could  be  expected  to  show  in  the  news  of  the  day. 
A  cluster  of  martial,  bronzed  faces,  amongst  which 
there  was  one  lacking  an  eye,  and  another  the  tip  of  a 
nose  frost-bitten  in  Russia,  surrounded  him  anxiously. 

"What's  the  matter,  GeneraLf^" 

General  Feraud  sat  erect,  holding  the  folded  news- 
paper at  arm's  length  in  order  to  make  out  the  small 
print  better.  He  read  to  himself,  over  again,  fragments 
of  the  intelligence  which  had  caused,  what  may  be 
called,  his  resurrection. 

''We  are  informed  that  General  D'Hubert,  till  now  on 
sick  leave  in  the  south,  is  to  be  called  to  the  command  of 
the  Fifth  Cavalry  brigade  in     .     .     ." 

He  dropped  the  paper  stonily.  .  .  .  "Called  to 
the  command"  .  .  .  and  suddenly  gave  his  fore- 
head a  mighty  slap.  "I  had  almost  forgotten  him,"  he 
muttered,  in  a  conscience-stricken  tone. 

A  deep-chested  veteran  shouted  across  the  cafe: 
"Some  new  villainy  of  the  Government,  General.'*" 

"The  villainies  of  these  scoundrels,"  thundered 
General  Feraud,  "  are  innumerable.   One  more  one  less ! " 


286  A  SET  OF  SIX 

.  .  .  He  lowered  his  tone.  "But  I  will  set  good 
order  to  one  of  them  at  least." 

He  looked  all  round  the  faces.  "There's  a  pomaded, 
curled  staff  officer,  the  darling  of  some  of  the  marshals 
who  sold  their  father  for  a  handful  of  English  gold.  He 
will  find  out  presently  that  I  am  alive  yet,"  he  declared, 
in  a  dogmatic  tone.  "However,  this  is  a  private  affair. 
An  old  affair  of  honour.  Bah!  Our  honour  does  not 
matter.  Here  we  are  driven  off  with  a  split  ear  like  a 
lot  of  cast  troop  horses — good  only  for  a  knacker's 
yard.  But  it  would  be  hke  striking  a  blow  for  the 
Emperor.  .  .  .  Messieurs,  I  shall  require  the  assist- 
ance of  two  of  you." 

Every  man  moved  forward.  General  Feraud,  deeply 
touched  by  this  demonstration,  called  with  visible 
emotion  upon  the  one-eyed  veteran  cuirassier  and  the 
officer  of  the  Chasseurs  a  Cheval  who  had  left  the  tip  of 
his  nose  in  Russia.     He  excused  his  choice  to  the  others. 

"A  cavalry  affair  this — you  know." 

He  was  answered  with  a  varied  chorus  of  ^'Parfaite- 
merit  mon  General.  .  .  .  Cest  juste.  .  .  .  Par- 
bleu,  c^est  connu.  .  .  ."  Everybody  was  satisfied. 
The  three  lett  the  cafe  together,  followed  by  cries  of 
*' Bonne  chance.'' 

Outside  they  linked  arms,  the  General  in  the  middle. 
The  three  rusty  cocked  hats  worn  en  hataille  with  a 
sinister  forward  slant  barred  the  narrow  street  nearly 
right  across.     The  overheated  little  town  of  gray  stones 


THE  DUEL  287 

and  red  tiles  was  drowsing  away  its  provincial  afternoon 
under  a  blue  sky.  The  loud  blows  of  a  cooper  hooping 
a  cask  reverberated  regularly  between  the  houses.  The 
General  dragged  his  left  foot  a  little  in  the  shade  of  the 
walls. 

"This  damned  winter  of  1813  has  got  into  my  bones 
for  good.  Never  mind.  We  must  take  pistols,  that's 
all.  A  little  lumbago.  We  must  have  pistols.  He's 
game  for  my  bag.  My  eyes  are  as  keen  as  ever.  You 
should  have  seen  me  in  Russia  picking  off  the  dodging 
Cossacks  with  a  beastly  old  infantry  musket.  I  have 
a  natural  gift  for  firearms." 

In  this  strain  General  Feraud  ran  on,  holding  up  his 
head,  with  owlish  eyes  and  rapacious  beak.  A  mere 
fighter  all  his  life,  a  cavalry  man,  a  sabreiir,  he  conceived 
war  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  as,  in  the  main,  a  massed 
lot  of  personal  contests,  a  sort  of  gregarious  duelling^ 
And  here  he  had  in  hand  a  war  of  his  own.  He  revived. 
The  shadow  of  peace  passed  away  from  him  like  the 
shadow  of  death.  It  was  the  marvellous  resurrection 
of  the  named  Feraud,  Gabriel  Florian,  engage  volontaire 
of  1793,  General  of  1814,  buried  without  ceremony  by 
means  of  the  service  order  signed  by  the  War  Minister 
of  the  second  Restoration. 

IV 

No  man  succeeds  in  everything  he  undertakes.  In 
that  sense  we  are  all  failures.     The  great  point  is  not  to 


288  A  SET  OF  SIX 

fail  in  ordering  and  sustaining  the  effort  of  our  life.  In 
this  matter  vanity  is  what  leads  us  astray.  It  hurries  us 
into  situations  from  which  we  must  come  out  damaged; 
whereas  pride  is  our  safeguard,  by  the  reserve  it  im- 
poses on  the  choice  of  our  endeavour  as  much  as  by 
the  virtue  of  its  sustaining  power. 

General  D 'Hubert  was  proud  and  reserved.  He  had 
not  been  damaged  by  his  casual  love  affairs,  successful 
or  otherwise.  In  his  war-scarred  body  his  heart  at 
forty  remained  unscratched.  Entering  with  reserve 
into  his  sister's  matrimonial  plans,  he  had  felt  himself 
falling  irremediably  in  love  as  one  falls  off  a  roof.  He 
was  too  proud  to  be  frightened.  Indeed,  the  sensation 
was  too  delightful  to  be  alarming. 

The  experience  of  a  man  of  forty  is  a  much  more 
serious  thing  than  the  inexperience  of  a  youth  of  twenty, 
for  it  is  not  helped  out  by  the  rashness  of  hot  blood. 
The  girl  was  mysterious,  as  young  girls  are  by  the  mere 
effect  of  their  guarded  ingenuity;  and  to  him  the  mysteri- 
ousness  of  that  young  girl  appeared  exceptional  and 
fascinating.  But  there  was  nothing  mysterious  about 
the  arrangements  of  the  match  which  Madame  Leonie 
had  promoted.  There  was  nothing  peculiar,  either.  It 
was  a  very  appropriate  match,  commending  itself  ex- 
tremely to  the  young  lady's  mother  (the  father  was 
dead)  and  tolerable  to  the  young  lady's  uncle — an 
old  emigre  lately  returned  from  Germany,  and  per- 
vading, cane   in   hand,    a   lean   ghost   of    the    ancien 


THE  DUEL  289 

rSgime,  the  garden  walks  of  the  young  lady's  ancestral 
home. 

General  D 'Hubert  was  not  the  man  to  be  satisfied 
merely  with  the  woman  and  the  fortune — when  it  came 
to  the  point.  His  pride  (and  pride  aims  always  at  true 
success)  would  be  satisfied  with  nothing  short  of  love. 
But  as  true  pride  excludes  vanity,  he  could  not  imagine 
any  reason  why  this  mysterious  creature  with  deep  and 
brilliant  eyes  of  a  violet  colour  should  have  any  feeling 
for  him  warmer  than  indifference.  The  young  lady  (her 
name  was  Adele)  baffled  every  attempt  at  a  clear  under- 
standing on  that  point.  It  is  true  that  the  attempts 
were  clumsy  and  made  timidly,  because  by  then  Gen- 
eral D 'Hubert  had  become  acutely  aware  of  the  number 
of  his  years,  of  his  wounds,  of  his  many  moral  inperfec- 
tions,  of  his  secret  unworthiness — and  had  incidentally 
learned  by  experience  the  meaning  of  the  word  funk. 
As  far  as  he  could  make  out  she  seemed  to  imply  that, 
with  an  unbounded  confidence  in  her  mother's  affection 
and  sagacity,  she  felt  no  unsurmountable  dislike  for  the 
person  of  General  D'Hubert;  and  that  this  was  quite 
sufficient  for  a  well-brought-up  young  lady  to  begin 
married  life  upon.  This  view  hurt  and  tormented  the 
pride  of  General  D'Hubert.  And  yet  he  asked  himself, 
with  a  sort  of  sweet  despair,  what  more  could  he  expect? 
She  had  a  quiet  and  luminous  forehead.  Her  violet  eyes 
laughed  while  the  lines  of  her  lips  and  chin  remained 
composed  in  admirable  gravity.     All  this  was  set  off  by 


290  A  SET  OF  SIX 

such  a  glorious  mass  of  fair  hair,  by  a  complexion  so 
marvellous,  by  such  a  grace  of  expression,  that  General 
D'Hubert  really  never  found  the  opportunity  to  ex- 
amine with  sufficient  detachment  the  lofty  exigencies  of 
his  pride.  In  fact  he  became  shy  of  that  line  of  inquiry 
since  it  had  led  once  or  twice  to  a  crisis  of  solitary 
passion  in  which  it  was  borne  upon  him  that  he  loved 
her  enough  to  kill  her  rather  than  lose  her.  From  such 
passages,  not  unknown  to  men  of  forty,  he  would  come 
out  broken,  exhausted,  remorseful,  a  little  dismayed. 
He  derived,  however,  considerable  comfort  from  the 
quietest  practice  of  sitting  now  and  then  half  the  night 
by  an  open  window  and  meditating  upon  the  wonder  of 
her  existence,  like  a  believer  lost  in  the  mystic  con- 
templation of  his  faith. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  these  variations  of 
his  inward  state  were  made  manifest  to  the  world. 
General  D'Hubert  found  no  difficulty  in  appearing 
wreathed  in  smiles.  Because,  in  fact,  he  was  very  happy. 
He  followed  the  established  rules  of  his  condition,  send- 
ing over  flowers  (from  his  sister's  garden  and  hot-houses), 
early  every  morning,  and  a  little  later  following  himself 
to  lunch  with  his  intended,  her  mother,  and  her  emigre 
uncle.  The  middle  of  the  day  was  spent  in  strolling 
or  sitting  in  the  shade.  A  watchful  deference,  trem- 
bling on  the  verge  of  tenderness,  was  the  note  of  their  in- 
tercourse on  his  side — with  a  playful  turn  of  the  phrase 
concealing  the  profound  trouble  of  his  whole  being 


THE  DUEL  291 

caused  by  her  inaccessible  nearness.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon General  D'Hubert  walked  home  between  the 
fields  of  vines,  sometimes  intensely  miserable,  some- 
times supremely  happy,  sometimes  pensively  sad;  but 
always  feeling  a  special  intensity  of  existence,  that 
elation  common  to  artists,  poets,  and  lovers — to  men 
haunted  by  a  great  passion,  a  noble  thought,  or  a  new 
vision  of  plastic  beauty. 

The  outward  world  at  that  time  did  not  exist  with 
any  special  distinctness  for  General  D'Hubert.  One 
evening,  however,  crossing  a  ridge  from  which  he  could 
see  both  houses.  General  D'Hubert  became  aware  of 
two  figures  far  down  the  road.  The  day  had  been  divine. 
The  festal  decoration  of  the  inflamed  sky  lent  a  gentle 
glow  to  the  sober  tints  of  the  southern  land.  The  gray 
rocks,  the  brown  fields,  the  purple,  undulating  distances 
harmonized  in  luminous  accord,  exhaled  already  the 
scents  of  the  evening.  The  two  figures  down  the  road 
presented  themselves  like  two  rigid  and  wooden  sil- 
houettes all  black  on  the  ribbon  of  white  dust.  General 
D'Hubert  made  out  the  long,  straight,  military  capotes 
buttoned  closely  right  up  to  the  black  stocks,  the  cocked 
hats,  the  lean,  carven  brown  countenances — old  soldiers 
— vieilles  moustaches!  The  taller  of  the  two  had  a 
black  patch  over  one  eye;  the  other's  hard,  dry  coun- 
tenance presented  some  bizarre,  disquieting  peculiarity, 
which  on  nearer  approach  proved  to  be  the  absence  of 
the  tip  of  the  nose.     Lifting  their  hands  with  one  move- 


292  A  SET  OF  SIX 

meut  to  salute  the  slightly  lame  civilian  walking  with  a 
thick  stick,  they  inquired  for  the  house  where  the  Gen- 
eral Baron  D'Hubert  lived,  and  what  was  the  best  way 
to  get  speech  with  him  quietly. 

"If  you  think  this  quiet  enough,"  said  General  D'Hu- 
bert, looking  round  at  the  vine-fields,  framed  in 
purple  lines,  and  dominated  by  the  nest  of  gray  and 
drab  walls  of  a  village  clustering  around  the  top  of  a 
conical  hill,  so  that  the  blunt  church  tower  seemed  but 
the  shape  of  a  crowning  rock — "if  you  think  this  spot 
quiet  enough,  you  can  speak  to  him  at  once.  And  I 
beg  you,  comrades,  to  speak  openly,  with  perfect  con- 
fidence." 

They  stepped  back  at  this,  and  raised  again  their 
hands  to  their  hats  with  marked  ceremoniousness. 
Then  the  one  with  the  chipped  nose,  speaking  for  both, 
remarked  that  the  matter  was  confidential  enough,  and 
to  be  arranged  discreetly.  Their  general  quarters  were 
established  in  that  village  over  there,  where  the  infernal 
clodhoppers — damn  their  false,  Royalist  hearts ! — looked 
remarkably  cross-eyed  at  three  unassuming  military 
men.  For  the  present  he  should  only  ask  for  the  name 
of  General  D'Hubert's  friends. 

"What  friends.''"  said  the  astonished  General  D'Hu- 
bert, completely  off  the  track.  "I  am  staying  with  my 
brother-in-law  over  there." 

"Well,  he  will  do  for  one,"  said  the  chipped  veteran. 

"We're  the  friends  of  General  Feraud,"  interjected 


THE  DUEL  293 

the  other,  who  had  kept  silent  till  then,  only  glowering 
with  his  one  eye  at  the  man  who  had  never  loved  the 
Emperor.  That  was  something  to  look  at.  For  even 
the  gold-laced  Judases  who  had  sold  him  to  the  English, 
the  marshals  and  princes,  had  loved  him  at  some  time 
or  other.  But  this  man  had  never  loved  the  Emperor. 
General  Feraud  had  said  so  distinctly. 

General  D 'Hubert  felt  an  inward  blow  in  his  chest. 
For  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a  second  it  was  as  if  the 
spinning  of  the  earth  had  become  perceptible  with 
an  awful,  slight  rustle  in  the  eternal  stillness  of  space. 
But  this  noise  of  blood  in  his  ears  passed  off  at  once. 
Involuntarily  he  murmured,  "Feraud!  I  had  forgotten 
his  existence." 

"He's  existing  at  present,  very  uncomfortably,  it  is 
true,  in  the  infamous  inn  of  that  nest  of  savages  up 
there,"  said  the  one-eyed  cuirassier  dryly.  "  We  arrived 
in  your  parts  an  hour  ago  on  post  horses.  He's  await- 
ing our  return  with  impatience.  There  is  hurry,  you 
know.  The  General  has  broken  the  ministerial  order 
to  obtain  from  you  the  satisfaction  he's  entitled  to 
by  the  laws  of  honour,  and  naturally  he's  anxious 
to  have  it  all  over  before  the  gendarmerie  gets  on  his 
scent." 

The  other  elucidated  the  idea  a  little  further:  "Get 
back  on  the  quiet — you  understand.''  Phitt.  No  one 
the  wiser.  We  have  broken  out,  too.  Your  friend  the 
king  would  be  glad  to  cut  off  our  scurvy  pittances  at  the 


294  A  SET  OF  SIX 

first  chance.  It's  a  risk.  But  honour  before  every- 
thing." 

General  D'Hubert  had  recovered  his  powers  of 
speech.  *'So  you  come  here  Hke  this  along  the  road  to 
invite  me  to  a  throat-cutting  match  with  that — that. 
.  .  ."  A  laughing  sort  of  rage  took  possession  of 
him.     "Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

His  fists  on  his  hips,  he  roared  without  restraint, 
while  they  stood  before  him  lank  and  straight,  as 
though  they  had  been  shot  up  with  a  snap  through  a 
trapdoor  in  the  ground.  Only  four-and-twenty  months 
ago  the  masters  of  Europe,  they  had  already  the  air  of 
antique  ghosts,  they  seemed  less  substantial  in  their 
faded  coats  than  their  own  narrow  shadows  falling  so 
black  across  the  white  road:  the  military  and  grotesque 
shadows  of  twenty  years  of  war  and  conquests.  They 
had  an  outlandish  appearance  of  two  imperturbable 
bonzes  of  the  religion  of  the  sword.  And  General  D 'Hu- 
bert, also  one  of  the  ex-masters  of  Europe,  laughed  at 
these  serious  phantoms  standing  in  his  way. 

Said  one,  indicating  the  laughing  General  with  a  jerk 
of  the  head:     "A  merry  companion,  that." 

"There  are  some  of  us  that  haven't  smiled  from  the 
day  The  Other  went  away,"  remarked  his  comrade. 

A  violent  impulse  to  set  upon  and  beat  those  un- 
substantial wraiths  to  the  ground  frightened  General 
D'Hubert.  He  ceased  laughing  suddenly.  His  desire 
now  was  to  get  rid  of  them,  to  get  them  away  from  his 


THE  DUEL  295 

sight  quickly  before  he  lost  control  of  himself.  He 
wondered  at  the  fury  he  felt  rising  in  his  breast.  But 
he  had  no  time  to  look  into  that  peculiarity  just  then. 

"I  understand  your  wish  to  be  done  with  me  as 
quickly  as  possible.  Don't  let  us  waste  time  in  empty 
ceremonies.  Do  you  see  that  wood  there  at  the  foot  of 
that  slope?  Yes,  the  wood  of  pines.  Let  us  meet  there 
to-morrow  at  sunrise.  I  will  bring  with  me  my  sword 
or  my  pistols,  or  both  if  you  like." 

The  seconds  of  General  Feraud  looked  at  each  other. 

"Pistols,  General,"  said  the  cuirassier. 

*'So  be  it.  Au  revoir — to-morrow  morning.  Till 
then  let  me  advise  you  to  keep  close  if  you  don't  want 
the  gendarmerie  making  inquiries  about  you  before  it 
gets  dark.  Strangers  are  rare  in  this  part  of  the 
country." 

They  saluted  in  silence.  General  D'Hubert,  turning 
his  back  on  their  retreating  forms,  stood  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  for  a  long  time,  biting  his  lower  lip 
and  looking  on  the  ground.  Then  he  began  to  walk 
straight  before  him,  thus  retracing  his  steps  till  he  found 
himself  before  the  park  gate  of  his  intended's  house. 
Dusk  had  fallen.  Motionless  he  stared  through  the 
bars  at  the  front  of  the  house,  gleaming  clear  beyond 
the  thickets  and  trees.  Footsteps  scrunched  on  the 
gravel,  and  presently  a  tall  stooping  shape  emerged 
from  the  lateral  alley  following  the  inner  side  of  the 
park  wall. 


296  A  SET  OF  SIX 

Le  Chevalier  de  Valmassigue,  uncle  of  the  adorable 
Adele,  ex-brigadier  in  the  army  of  the  Princes,  book- 
binder in  Altona,  afterward  shoemaker  (with  a  great 
reputation  for  elegance  in  tlie  fit  of  ladies'  shoes)  in  an- 
other small  German  town,  wore  silk  stockings  on  his  lean 
shanks,  low  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  a  brocaded  waist- 
coat. A  long-skirted  coat,  a  la  franqaise,  covered  loosely 
his  thin  bowed  back.  A  small  three-cornered  hat  rested 
on  a  lot  of  powdered  hair,  tied  in  a  queue. 

^'Monsieur  le  Chevalier,''  called  General  D'Hubert 
softly. 

"What.f^  You  here  again,  mon  ami?  Have  you 
forgotten  something.f^" 

"By  heavens!  that's  just  it.  I  have  forgotten  some- 
thing. I  am  come  to  tell  you  of  it.  No — outside. 
Behind  this  wall.  It's  too  ghastly  a  thing  to  be  let  in 
at  all  where  she  lives." 

The  Chevalier  came  out  at  once  with  that  benevolent 
resignation  some  old  people  display  toward  the  fugue 
of  youth.  Older  by  a  quarter  of  a  century  than  General 
D'Hubert,  he  looked  upon  him  in  the  secret  of  his  heart 
as  a  rather  troublesome  youngster  in  love.  He  had 
heard  his  enigmatical  words  very  well,  but  attached  no 
undue  importance  to  what  a  mere  man  of  forty  so  hard 
hit  was  likely  to  do  or  say.  The  turn  of  mind  of  the 
generation  of  Frenchmen  grown  up  during  the  years  of 
his  exile  was  almost  unintelligible  to  him.  Their  senti- 
ments appeared  to  him  unduly  violent,  lacking  fineness 


THE  DUEL  297 

and  measure,  their  language  needlessly  exaggerated. 
He  joined  calmly  the  General  on  the  road,  and  they 
made  a  few  steps  in  silence,  the  General  trying  to 
master  his  agitation,  and  get  proper  control  of  his  voice. 

"It  is  perfectly  true;  I  forgot  something.  I  forgot 
till  half  an  hour  ago  that  I  had  an  urgent  affair  of  honour 
on  my  hands.     It's  incredible,  but  it  is  so ! " 

All  was  still  for  a  moment.  Then  in  the  profound 
evening  silence  of  the  countryside  the  clear,  aged  voice 
of  the  Chevalier  was  heard  trembling  slightly.  "Mon- 
sieur!    That's  an  indignity." 

It  was  his  first  thought.  The  girl  born  during  his 
exile,  the  posthumous  daughter  of  his  poor  brother 
murdered  by  a  band  of  Jacobins,  had  grown  since  his 
return  very  dear  to  his  old  heart,  which  had  been  starv- 
ing on  mere  memories  of  affection  for  so  many  years. 
"It  is  an  inconceivable  thing,  I  say!  A  man  settles 
such  affairs  before  he  thinks  of  asking  for  a  young  girFs 
hand.  Why!  If  you  had  forgotten  for  ten  days  longer, 
you  would  have  been  married  before  your  memory  re- 
turned to  you.  In  my  time  men  did  not  forget  such 
tilings — nor  yet  what  is  due  to  the  feelings  of  an  inno- 
cent young  woman.  If  I  did  not  respect  them  myself, 
I  would  qualify  your  conduct  in  a  way  which  you  would 
not  like." 

General  D'Hubert  relieved  himself  frankly  by  a  groan. 
"Don't  let  that  consideration  prevent  you.  You  run 
no  risk  of  offending  her  mortally." 


298  A  SET  OF  SIX 

But  the  old  man  paid  no  attention  to  this  lover's 
nonsense.  It's  doubtful  whether  he  even  heard.  "  What 
is  it?"  he  asked.     "What's  the  nature  of     .     .     .     ?" 

"Call  it  a  youthful  folly,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier.  An 
inconceivable,  incredible  result  of  .  .  ."  He  stopped 
short.  "He  will  never  believe  the  story,"  he  thought. 
"He  will  only  think  I  am  taking  him  for  a  fool,  and  get 
offended."  General  D'Hubert  spoke  up  again.  "Yes, 
originating  in  youthful  folly,  it  has  become     .     .     ." 

The  Chevalier  interrupted.  "Well,  then  it  must  be 
arranged.'* 

"Arranged.?" 

"Yes,  no  matter  at  what  cost  to  your  amour  propre. 
You  should  have  remembered  you  were  engaged.  You 
forgot  that,  too,  I  suppose.  And  then  you  go  and  for- 
get your  quarrel.  It's  the  most  hopeless  exhibition  of 
levity  I  ever  heard  of." 

"Good  heavens,  monsieur!  You  don't  imagine  I 
have  been  picking  up  this  quarrel  last  time  I  was  in 
Paris,  or  anything  of  the  sort,  do  you.'^" 

"Eh!  What  matters  the  precise  date  of  your  insane 
conduct,"  exclaimed  the  Chevalier  testily.  "The  prin- 
cipal thing  is  to  arrange  it." 

Noticing  General  D'Hubert  getting  restive  and  try- 
ing to  place  a  w^ord,  the  old  SmigrS  raised  his  hand, 
and  added  with  dignity,  "I've  been  a  soldier,  too.  I 
would  never  dare  suggest  a  doubtful  step  to  the 
man  whose  name  my  niece  is  to  bear.     I  tell  you  that 


THE  DUEL  299 

entre  galants  hommes  an  affair  can  always  be  ar- 
ranged." 

"But,  saperlotte,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  it's  fifteen  or 
sixteen  years  ago.     I  was  a  lieutenant  of  hussars  then." 

The  old  Chevalier  seemed  confounded  by  the  vehe- 
mently despairing  tone  of  this  information.  *'You 
were  a  lieutenant  of  hussars  sixteen  years  ago!"  he 
mumbled  in  a  dazed  manner. 

"Why,  yes!  You  did  not  suppose  I  was  made  a 
general  in  my  cradle  like  a  royal  prince." 

In  the  deepening  purple  twilight  of  the  fields  spread 
with  vine  leaves,  backed  by  a  low  band  of  sombre 
crimson  in  the  west,  the  voice  of  the  old  ex-oflScer  in 
the  army  of  the  Princes  sounded  collected,  punc- 
tiliously civil. 

"Do  I  dream .^  Is  this  a  pleasantry.'*  Or  am  I  to 
understand  that  you  have  been  hatching  an  affair  of 
honour  for  sixteen  years.''" 

"It  has  clung  to  me  for  that  length  of  time.  That  is 
my  precise  meaning.  The  quarrel  itself  is  not  to  be  ex- 
plained easily.  We  met  on  the  ground  several  times 
during  that  time,  of  course." 

"What  manners!  What  horrible  pervasion  of  man- 
liness! Nothing  can  account  for  such  inhumanity  but 
the  sanguinary  madness  of  the  Revolution  which  has 
tainted  a  whole  generation,"  mused  the  returned  SmigrS 
in  a  low  tone.  "\\Tio's  your  adversary?"  he  asked  a 
little  louder. 


300  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"My  adversary?     His  name  is  Feraud." 

Shadowy  in  his  tricorne  and  old-fashioned  clothes, 
like  a  bowed,  thin  ghost  of  the  ancien  regime,  the  Chev- 
alier voiced  a  ghostly  memory.  "I  can  remember  the 
feud  about  little  Sophie  Derval,  between  Monsieur  de 
Brissac,  Captain  in  the  Bodyguards,  and  d'Anjorrant 
(not  the  pock-marked  one,  the  other — the  Beau  d'An- 
jorrant, as  they  called  him).  They  met  three  times  in 
eighteen  months  in  a  most  gallant  manner.  It  was  the 
fault  of  that  little  Sophie,  too,  who  would  keep  on  play- 
ing     .     .     ." 

"This  is  nothing  of  the  kind,"  interrupted  General 
D'Hubert.  He  laughed  a  little  sardonically.  "Not  at 
all  so  simple,"  he  added.  "Nor  yet  half  so  reasonable," 
he  finished  inaudibly  between  his  teeth,  and  ground 
them  with  rage. 

After  this  sound  nothing  troubled  the  silence  for  a 
long  time,  till  the  Chevalier  asked,  without  animation: 
"What  is  he— this  Feraud .'" 

"Lieutenant  of  hussars,  too — I  mean  he's  a  general. 
A  Gascon.     Son  of  a  blacksmith,  I  believe." 

"There!  I  thought  so.  That  Bonaparte  had  a 
special  predilection  for  the  canaille.  I  don't  mean 
this  for  you,  D'Hubert.  You  are  one  of  us,  though  you 
have  served  this  usurper,  who     .     .     ." 

"Let's  leave  him  out  of  this,"  broke  in  General  D'Hu- 
bert. 

The     Chevalier    shrugged    his    peaked    shoulders. 


THE  DUEL  301 

"Feraud  of  sorts.  Offspring  of  a  blacksmith  and  some 
village  troll.  See  what  comes  of  mixing  yourself  up 
with  that  sort  of  people." 

"You  have  made  shoes  yourself,  Chevalier." 

"Yes.  But  I  am  not  the  son  of  a  shoemaker.  Neither 
are  you,  Monsieur  D'Hubert.  You  and  I  have  some- 
thing that  your  Bonaparte's  princes,  dukes,  and  mar- 
shals have  not,  because  there's  no  power  on  earth  that 
could  give  it  to  them,"  retorted  the  emigre,  with  the  ris- 
ing animation  of  a  man  who  has  got  hold  of  a  hope- 
ful argument.  "Those  people  don't  exist — all  these 
Ferauds.  Feraud!  ^Vhat  is  Feraud?  A  va-nu-pieds 
disguised  into  a  general  by  a  Corsican  adventurer  mas- 
querading as  an  emperor.  There  is  no  earthly  reason  for 
a  D'Hubert  to  s'encanailler  by  a  duel  with  a  person  of 
that  sort.  You  can  make  your  excuses  to  him  perfectly 
well.  And  if  the  manant  takes  into  his  head  to  decline 
them,  you  may  simply  refuse  to  meet  him." 

"You  say  I  may  do  that.'^" 

"I  do.     With  the  clearest  conscience." 

^'Monsieur  le  Chevalier  I  To  what  do  you  think  you 
have  returned  from  you  emigration.'" 

This  was  said  in  such  a  startling  tone  that  the  old 
man  raised  sharply  his  bowed  head,  glimmering  silvery 
white  under  the  points  of  the  little  tricorne.  For  a  time 
he  made  no  sound. 

"God  knows!"  he  said  at  last,  pointing  with  a  slow 
and  grave  gesture  at  a  tall,  roadside  cross  mounted  on  a 


302  A  SET  OF  SIX 

block  of  stone,  and  stretching  its  arms  of  forged  iron  all 
black  against  the  darkening  red  band  in  the  sky — "God 
knows!  If  it  were  not  for  this  emblem,  which  I  re- 
member seeing  on  this  spot  as  a  child,  I  would  wonder 
to  what  we  who  remained  faithful  to  God  and  our  king 
have  returned.  The  very  voices  of  the  people  have 
changed." 

"Yes,  it  is  a  changed  France,"  said  General  D'Hubert. 
He  seemed  to  have  regained  his  calm.  His  tone  was 
slightly  ironic.  "Therefore  I  cannot  take  your  advice. 
Besides,  how  is  one  to  refuse  to  be  bitten  by  a  dog  that 
means  to  bite?  It's  impracticable.  Take  my  word 
for  it — Feraud  isn't  a  man  to  be  stayed  by  apologies  or 
refusals.  But  there  are  other  ways.  I  could,  for  in- 
stance, send  a  messenger  with  a  word  to  the  brigadier 
of  the  gendarmerie  in  Senlac.  He  and  his  two  friends 
are  liable  to  arrest  on  my  simple  order.  It  would  make 
some  talk  in  the  army,  both  the  organized  and  the  dis- 
banded— especially  the  disbanded.  All  canaille!  All 
once  upon  a  time  the  companions  in  arms  of  Armand 
D'Hubert.  But  what  need  a  D'Hubert  care  what 
people  that  don't  exist  may  think.  Or,  better  still,  I 
might  get  my  brother-in-law  to  send  for  the  mayor  of 
the  village  and  give  him  a  hint.  No  more  would  be 
needed  to  get  the  three  'brigands'  set  upon  with  flails 
and  pitchforks  and  hunted  into  some  nice,  deep,  wet 
ditch — and  nobody  the  wiser!  It  has  been  done  only 
ten  miles  from  here  to  three  poor  devils  of  the  disbanded 


THE  DUEL  303 

Red  Lancers  of  the  Guard  going  to  their  homes.  Wliat 
says  your  conscience,  Chevalier?  Can  a  D'Hubert  do 
that  thing  to  three  men  who  do  not  exist?  " 

A  few  stars  had  come  out  on  the  blue  obscurity,  clear 
as  crystal,  of  the  sky.  The  dry,  thin  voice  of  the  Chev- 
alier spoke  harshly:  "Why  are  you  telling  me  all 
this?" 

The  General  seized  the  withered  old  hand  with  a 
strong  grip.  "Because  I  owe  you  my  fullest  confidence. 
Who  could  tell  Adele  but  you?  You  understand  why  I 
dare  not  trust  my  brother-in-law  nor  yet  my  own  sister. 
Chevalier!  I  have  been  so  near  doing  these  things  that 
I  tremble  yet.  You  don't  know  how  terrible  this  duel 
appears  to  me.     And  there's  no  escape  from  it." 

He  murmured  after  a  pause,  "It's  a  fatality,"  dropped 
the  Chevalier's  passive  hand,  and  said  in  his  ordinary 
conversational  voice,  "I  shall  have  to  go  without  seconds. 
If  it  is  my  lot  to  remain  on  the  ground,  you  at  least  will 
know  all  that  can  be  made  known  of  this  affair." 

The  shadowy  ghost  of  the  ancien  regime  seemed  to 
have  become  more  bowed  during  the  conversation. 
"How  am  I  to  keep  an  indifferent  face  this  evening 
before  these  two  women?"  he  groaned.  "General!  I 
find  it  very  difficult  to  forgive  you." 

General  D'Hubert  made  no  answer. 

"Is  your  cause  good,  at  least?" 

"I  am  innocent." 

This  time  he  seized  the   Chevalier's  ghostly  arm 


304  A  SET  OF  SIX 

above  the  elbow,  and  gave  it  a  mighty  squeeze.  "I 
must  kill  him!"  he  hissed,  and  opening  his  hand  strode 
away  down  the  road. 

The  delicate  attentions  of  his  adoring  sister  had 
secured  for  the  General  perfect  liberty  of  movement  in 
the  house  where  he  was  a  guest.  He  had  even  his  own 
entrance  through  a  small  door  in  one  corner  of  the 
orangery.  Thus  he  was  not  exposed  that  evening  to 
the  necessity  of  dissembling  his  agitation  before  the 
calm  ignorance  of  the  other  inmates.  He  was  glad  of 
it.  It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  had  to  open  his  lips  he 
would  break  out  into  horrible  and  aimless  imprecations, 
start  breaking  furniture,  smashing  china  and  glass. 
From  the  moment  he  opened  the  private  door,  and 
while  ascending  the  twenty-eight  steps  of  a  winding 
staircase,  giving  access  to  the  corridor  on  which  his 
room  opened,  he  went  through  a  horrible  and  humiliat- 
ing scene  in  which  an  infuriated  madman  with  blood- 
shot eyes  and  a  foaming  mouth  played  inconceivable 
havoc  with  everything  inanimate  that  may  be  found  in 
a  well-appointed  dining-room.  When  he  opened  the 
door  of  his  apartment  the  fit  was  over,  and  his  bodily 
fatigue  was  so  great  that  he  had  to  catch  at  the  backs  of 
the  chairs  while  crossing  the  room  to  reach  a  low  and 
broad  divan  on  which  he  let  himself  fall  heavily.  His 
moral  prostration  was  still  greater.  That  brutality  of 
feeling  which  he  had  known  only  when  charging  the 
enemy,  sabre  in  hand,  amazed  this  man  of  forty,  who 


THE  DUEL  305 

did  not  recognize  in  it  the  instinctive  fury  of  his  men- 
aced passion.  But  in  his  mental  and  bodily  exhaustion 
this  passion  get  cleared,  distilled,  refined  into  a  senti- 
ment of  melancholy  despair  at  having,  perhaps,  to  die 
before  he  had  taught  this  beautiful  girl  to  love  him. 

That  night.  General  D'Hubert  stretched  out  on  his 
back  with  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  or  lying  on  his  breast 
with  his  face  buried  in  a  cushion,  made  the  full  pilgrim- 
age of  emotions.  Nauseating  disgust  at  the  absurdity 
of  the  situation,  doubt  of  his  own  fitness  to  conduct  his 
existence,  and  mistrust  of  his  best  sentiments  (for  what 
the  devil  did  he  want  to  go  to  Fouche  for.') — he  knew 
them  all  in  turn.  "  I  am  an  idiot,  neither  more  nor  less," 
he  thought — "A  sensitive  idiot.  Because  I  overheard 
two  men  talking  in  a  cafe.  ...  I  am  an  idiot  afraid 
of  lies — whereas  in  life  it  is  only  truth  that  matters." 

Several  times  he  got  up  and,  walking  in  his  socks  in 
order  not  to  be  heard  by  anybody  downstairs,  drank 
all  the  water  he  could  find  in  the  dark.  And  he  tasted 
the  torments  of  jealousy,  too.  She  would  marry  some- 
body else.  His  very  soul  writhed.  The  tenacity  of 
that  Feraud,  the  awful  persistence  of  that  imbecile 
brute,  came  to  him  with  the  tremendous  force  of  a  relent- 
less destiny.  General  D'Hubert  trembled  as  he  put 
down  the  empty  water  ewer.  "He  will  have  me,"  he 
thought.  General  D  'Hubert  was  tasting  every  emotion 
that  life  has  to  give.  He  had  in  his  dry  mouth  the  faint 
sickly  flavour  of  fear,  not  the  excusable  fear  before  a 


806  A  SET  OF  SIX 

young  girl's  candid  and  amused  glance,  but  the  fear  of 
death  and  the  honourable  man's  fear  of  cowardice. 

But  if  true  courage  consists  in  going  out  to  meet  an 
odious  danger  from  which  our  body,  soul,  and  heart 
recoil  together,  General  D 'Hubert  had  the  opportunity 
to  practise  it  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  He  had 
charged  exultingly  at  batteries  and  at  infantry  squares, 
and  ridden  with  messages  through  a  hail  of  bullets  with- 
out thinking  anything  about  it.  His  business  now  was 
to  sneak  out  unheard,  at  break  of  day,  to  an  obscure 
and  revolting  death.  General  D 'Hubert  never  hesi- 
tated. He  carried  two  pistols  in  a  leather  bag  which  he 
slung  over  his  shoulder.  Before  he  had  crossed  the 
garden  his  mouth  was  dry  again.  He  picked  two 
oranges.  It  was  only  after  shutting  the  gate  after  him 
that  he  felt  a  slight  faintness. 

He  staggered  on,  disregarding  it,  and  after  going  a 
few  yards  regained  the  command  of  his  legs.  In  the 
colourless  and  pellucid  dawn  the  wood  of  pines  detached 
its  columns  of  trunks  and  its  dark  green  canopy  very 
clearly  against  the  rocks  of  the  gray  hillside.  He  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  on  it  steadily,  and  sucked  at  an  orange  as 
he  walked.  That  temperamental  good-humoured  cool- 
ness in  the  face  of  danger  which  had  made  him  an  oflScer 
liked  by  his  men  and  appreciated  by  his  superiors  was 
gradually  asserting  itself.  It  was  like  going  into  battle. 
Arriving  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  he  sat  down  on  a 
boulder,  holding  the  other  orange  in  his  hand,  and  re- 


THE  DUEL  307 

proached  himself  for  coming  so  ridiculously  early  on 
the  ground.  Before  very  long,  however,  he  heard  the 
swishing  of  bushes,  footsteps  on  the  hard  ground,  and 
the  sounds  of  a  disjointed,  loud  conversation.  A  voice 
somewhere  behind  him  said  boastfully:  "He's  game  for 
my  bag." 

He  thought  to  himself:  "Here  they  are.  ^Vhat's 
this  about  game. f^  Are  they  talking  of  me. f^"  And  be- 
coming aware  of  the  other  orange  in  his  hand,  he  thought 
further:  "These  are  very  good  oranges.  Leonie's 
own  tree.  I  may  just  as  well  eat  this  orange  now  in- 
stead of  flinging  it  away." 

Emerging  from  a  wilderness  of  rocks  and  bushes. 
General  Feraud  and  his  seconds  discovered  General 
D'Hubert  engaged  in  peeling  the  orange.  They  stood 
still,  waiting  till  he  looked  up.  Then  the  seconds  raised 
their  hats,  while  General  Feraud,  putting  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  walked  aside  a  little  way. 

"I  am  compelled  to  ask  one  of  you,  messieurs,  to  act 
forme.     I  have  brought  no  friends.     Will  you.''" 

The  one-eyed  cuirassier  said  judicially:  "That  cannot 
be  refused." 

The  other  veteran  remarked:  "It's  awkward  all  the 
same." 

"Owing  to  the  state  of  the  people's  minds  in  this 
part  of  the  country  there  was  no  one  I  could  trust  safely 
with  the  object  of  your  presence  here,"  explained 
General  D'Hubert  urbanely. 


308  A  SET  OF  SIX 

They  saluted,  looked  round,  and  remarked  both  to- 
gether : 

"Poor  ground." 

"It's  unfit." 

"Why  bother  about  ground,  measurements,  and  so  on. 
Let  us  simplify  matters.  Load  the  two  pairs  of  pistols. 
I  will  take  those  of  General  Feraud,  and  let  him  take 
mine.  Or,  better  still,  let  us  take  a  mixed  pair.  One 
of  each  pair.  Then  let  us  go  into  the  wood  and  shoot  at 
sight,  while  you  remain  outside.  We  did  not  come  here 
for  ceremonies,  but  for  war — war  to  the  death.  Any 
ground  is  good  enough  for  that.  If  I  fall,  you  must  leave 
me  where  I  lie  and  clear  out.  It  wouldn't  be  healthy 
for  you  to  be  found  hanging  about  here  after  that." 

It  appeared  after  a  short  parley  that  General  Feraud 
was  willing  to  accept  these  conditions.  While  the 
seconds  were  loading  the  pistols,  he  could  be  heard 
whistling,  and  was  seen  to  rub  his  hands  with  perfect 
contentment.  He  flung  off  his  coat  briskly,  and  Gen- 
eral D 'Hubert  took  off  his  own  and  folded  it  carefully 
on  a  stone. 

"Suppose  you  take  your  principal  to  the  other  side 
of  the  wood  and  let  him  enter  exactly  in  ten  minutes 
from  now,"  suggested  General  D'Hubert  calmly,  but 
feeling  as  if  he  were  giving  directions  for  his  own  execu- 
tion. This,  however,  was  liis  last  moment  of  weakness. 
**Wait.     Let  us  compare  watches  first." 

He  pulled  out  his  own.     The  officer  with  the  chipped 


THE  DUEL  309 

nose  went  over  to  borrow  the  watch  of  General  Feraud. 
They  bent  their  heads  over  them  for  a  time. 

"That's  it.  At  four  minutes  to  six  by  yours.  Sevea 
to  by  mine." 

It  was  the  cuirassier  who  remained  by  the  side  of 
General  D 'Hubert,  keeping  his  one  eye  fixed  immovably 
on  the  white  face  of  the  watch  he  held  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  He  opened  his  mouth,  waiting  for  the 
beat  of  the  last  second  long  before  he  snapped  out  the 
word,  " Avancez." 

General  D'Hubert  moved  on,  passing  from  the 
glaring  sunshine  of  the  Provengal  morning  into  the  cool 
and  aromatic  shade  of  the  pines.  The  ground  was  clear 
between  the  reddish  trunks,  whose  multitude,  leaning 
at  slightly  different  angles,  confused  his  eye  at  first.  It 
was  like  going  into  battle.  The  commanding  quality 
of  confidence  in  himself  woke  up  in  his  breast.  He  was 
all  to  his  affair.  The  problem  was  how  to  kill  the  ad- 
versary. Nothing  short  of  that  would  free  him  from 
this  imbecile  nightmare.  "It's  no  use  wounding  that 
brute,"  thought  General  D'Hubert.  He  was  known  as 
a  resourceful  officer.  His  comrades  years  ago  used  also 
to  call  him  The  Strategist.  And  it  was  a  fact  that  he 
could  think  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy.  Whereas 
Feraud  had  been  always  a  mere  fighter — but  a  dead 
shot,  unluckily. 

"I  must  draw  his  fire  at  the  greatest  possible  range," 
said  General  D'Hubert  to  himself. 


SIO  A  SET  OF  SIX 

At  that  moment  he  saw  something  white  moving  far 
off  between  the  trees — the  shirt  of  his  adversary.  He 
stepped  out  at  once  between  the  trunks,  exposing  him- 
self freely;  then,  quick  as  lightning,  leaped  back.  It 
had  been  a  risky  move,  but  it  succeeded  in  its  object. 
Almost  simultaneously  with  the  pop  of  a  shot  a  small 
piece  of  bark  chipped  off  by  the  bullet  stung  his  ear 
painfully. 

General  Feraud,  with  one  shot  expended,  was  getting 
cautious.  Peeping  round  the  tree,  General  D'Hubert 
could  not  see  him  at  all.  This  ignorance  of  the  foe's 
whereabouts  carried  with  it  a  sense  of  insecurity. 
General  D'Hubert  felt  himself  abominably  exposed  on 
his  flank  and  rear.  Again  something  white  fluttered 
in  his  sight.  Ha!  The  enemy  was  still  on  his  front, 
then.  He  had  feared  a  turning  movement.  But 
apparently  General  Feraud  was  not  thinking  of  it. 
General  D'Hubert  saw  him  pass  without  special  haste 
from  one  tree  to  another  in  the  straight  line  of  approach. 
With  great  firmness  of  mind  General  D'Hubert  stayed 
his  hand.  Too  far  yet.  He  knew  he  was  no  marks- 
man.    His  must  be  a  waiting  game — to  kill. 

Wishing  to  take  advantage  of  the  greater  thickness 
of  the  trunk,  he  sank  down  to  the  ground.  Extended 
at  full  length,  head  on  to  his  enemy,  he  had  his  person 
completely  protected.  Exposing  himself  would  not  do 
now,  because  the  other  was  too  near  by  this  time.  A 
conviction  that  Feraud  would  presently  do  something 


THE  DUEL  311 

rash  was  like  balm  to  General  D'Hubert's  soul.  But  to 
keep  his  chin  raised  off  the  ground  was  irksome,  and  not 
much  use,  either.  He  peeped  round,  exposing  a  fraction 
of  his  head  with  dread,  but  really  with  little  risk.  His 
enemy,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  did  not  expect  to  see  any- 
thing of  him  so  far  down  as  that.  General  D'Hubert 
caught  a  fleeting  view  of  General  Feraud  shifting  trees 
again  with  deliberate  caution.  "He  despises  my  shoot- 
ing," he  thought,  displaying  that  insight  into  the  mind 
of  his  antagonist  wliich  is  of  such  great  help  in  winning 
battles.  He  was  confirmed  in  his  tactics  of  immobility. 
"If  I  could  only  watch  my  rear  as  well  as  my  front!"  he 
thought  anxiously,  longing  for  the  impossible. 

It  required  some  force  of  character  to  lay  his  pistols 
down;  but,  on  a  sudden  impulse,  General  D'Hubert  did 
this  very  gently — one  on  each  side  of  him.  In  the  army 
he  had  been  looked  upon  as  a  bit  of  a  dandy  because  he 
used  to  shave  and  put  on  a  clean  shirt  on  the  days  of 
battle.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  always  been  very 
careful  of  his  personal  appearance.  In  a  man  of  nearly 
forty,  in  love  with  a  young  and  charming  girl,  this 
praiseworthy  self-respect  may  run  to  such  little  weak- 
nesses as,  for  instance,  being  provided  with  an  elegant 
little  leather  folding-case  containing  a  small  ivory 
comb,  and  fitted  with  a  piece  of  looking-glass  on  the 
outside.  General  D'Hubert,  his  hands  being  free,  felt 
in  his  breeches  pockets  for  that  implement  of  innocent 
vanity  excusable  in  the  possessor  of  long  silky  mous- 


312  A  SET  OF  SIX 

taches.  He  drew  it  out,  and  then  with  the  utmost 
coolness  and  promptitude  turned  himself  over  on  his 
back.  In  this  new  attitude,  his  head  a  little  raised,  hold- 
ing the  little  looking-glass  just  clear  of  his  tree,  he 
squinted  into  it  with  his  left  eye,  while  the  right  kept  a 
direct  watch  on  the  rear  of  his  position.  Thus  was 
proved  Napoleon's  saying,  that  "for  a  French  soldier, 
the  word  impossible  does  not  exist."  He  had  the  right 
tree  nearly  filling  the  field  of  his  little  mirror. 

*'If  he  moves  from  behind  it,"  he  reflected  with  satis- 
faction, "I  am  bound  to  see  his  legs.  But  in  any  case 
he  can't  come  upon  me  unawares." 

And  sure  enough  he  saw  the  boots  of  General  Feraud 
flash  in  and  out,  eclipsing  for  an  instant  everything  else 
reflected  in  the  little  mirror.  He  shifted  its  position 
accordingly.  But  having  to  form  his  judgment  of  the 
change  from  that  indirect  view,  he  did  not  realize  that 
now  his  feet  and  a  portion  of  his  legs  were  in  plain  sight 
of  General  Feraud 

General  Feraud  had  been  getting  gradually  impressed 
by  the  amazing  cleverness  with  which  his  enemy  was 
keeping  cover.  He  had  spotted  the  right  tree  with 
bloodthirsty  precision.  He  was  absolutely  certain  of 
it.  And  yet  he  had  not  been  able  to  glimpse  as  much 
as  the  tip  of  an  ear.  As  he  had  been  looking  for  it  at 
the  height  of  about  five  feet  ten  inches  from  the  ground, 
it  was  no  great  wonder — but  it  seemed  very  wonderful 
to  General  Feraud. 


THE  DUEL  313 

The  first  view  of  these  feet  and  legs  determined  a 
rush  of  blood  to  his  head.  He  literally  staggered  be- 
hind his  tree,  and  had  to  steady  himself  against  it  with 
his  hand.  The  other  was  lying  on  the  ground,  then! 
On  the  ground!  Perfectly  still,  too!  Exposed!  What 
could  it  mean.''  .  .  .  The  notion  that  he  had 
knocked  over  his  adversary  at  the  first  shot  entered 
then  General  Feraud's  head.  Once  there  it  grew  with 
every  second  of  attentive  gazing,  overshadowing  every 
other  supposition — irresistible,  triumphant,  ferocious. 

"What  an  ass  I  was  to  think  I  could  have  missed 
him,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "He  was  exposed  e7i 
■pleiri — the  fool! — for  quite  a  couple  of  seconds." 

General  Feraud  gazed  at  the  motionless  limbs,  the  last 
vestiges  of  surprise  fading  before  an  unbounded  admi- 
ration of  his  own  deadly  skill  with  the  pistol. 

"Turned  up  his  toes!  By  the  god  of  war,  that  was  a 
shot! "  he  exulted  mentally.  " Got  it  through  the  head, 
no  doubt,  just  where  I  aimed,  staggered  behind  that  tree, 
rolled  over  on  his  back  and  died." 

And  he  stared!  He  stared,  forgetting  to  move,  al- 
most awed,  almost  sorry.  But  for  nothing  in  the 
world  would  he  have  had  it  undone.  Such  a  shot! — 
such  a  shot!     Rolled  over  on  his  back  and  died! 

For  it  was  this  helpless  position,  lying  on  the  back, 
that  shouted  its  direct  evidence  at  General  Feraud! 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  it  might  have  been  de- 
liberately assumed  by  a  hving  man.     It  was  inconceiv- 


314  A  SET  OF  SIX 

able!  It  was  beyond  the  range  of  sane  supposition. 
There  was  no  possibility  to  guess  the  reason  for  it.  And 
it  must  be  said,  too,  that  General  D 'Hubert's  turned- 
up  feet  looked  thoroughly  dead.  General  Feraud  ex- 
panded his  lungs  for  a  stentorian  shout  to  his  seconds, 
but,  from  what  he  felt  to  be  an  excessive  scrupulous- 
ness, refrained  for  a  while. 

"I  will  just  go  and  see  first  whether  he  breathes  yet," 
he  mumbled  to  himself,  leaving  carelessly  the  shelter  of 
his  tree.  This  move  was  immediately  perceived  by  the 
resourceful  General  D'Hubert.  He  concluded  it  to  be 
another  shift,  but  when  he  lost  the  boots  out  of  the  field 
of  the  mirror  he  became  uneasy.  General  Feraud  had 
only  stepped  a  little  out  of  the  line,  but  his  adversary 
could  not  possibly  have  supposed  him  walking  up  with 
perfect  unconcern.  General  D'Hubert,  beginning  to 
wonder  at  what  had  become  of  the  other,  was  taken 
unawares  so  completely  that  the  first  warning  of  danger 
consisted  in  the  long,  early-morning  shadow  of  his  enemy 
falling  aslant  on  his  outstretched  legs.  He  had  not  even 
heard  a  footfall  on  the  soft  ground  between  the  trees! 

It  was  too  much  even  for  his  coolness.  He  jumped 
up  thoughtlessly,  leaving  the  pistols  on  the  ground. 
The  irresistible  instinct  of  an  average  man  (unless  totally 
paralyzed  by  discomfiture)  would  have  been  to  stoop 
for  his  weapons,  exposing  himself  to  the  risk  of  being 
shot  down  in  that  position.  Instinct,  of  course,  is  irre- 
flective.     It  is  its  very  definition.     But  it  may  be  an 


THE  DUEL  315 

inquiry  worth  pursuing  whether  in  reflective  mankind 
the  mechanical  promptings  of  instinct  are  not  affected 
by  the  customary  mode  of  thought.  In  his  young 
days,  Armand  D 'Hubert,  the  reflective,  promising 
officer,  had  emitted  the  opinion  that  in  warfare  one 
should  "never  cast  back  on  the  lines  of  a  mistake." 
This  idea,  defended  and  developed  in  many  discussions, 
had  settled  into  one  of  the  stock  notions  of  his  brain, 
had  become  a  part  of  his  mental  individuality.  Whether 
it  had  gone  so  inconceivably  deep  as  to  affect  the  dic- 
tates of  his  instinct,  or  simply  because,  as  he  himself 
declared  afterward,  he  was  "too  scared  to  remember 
the  confounded  pistols,"  the  fact  is  that  General  D 'Hu- 
bert never  attempted  to  stoop  for  them.  Instead  of 
going  back  on  his  mistake,  he  seized  the  rough  trunk  with 
both  hands,  and  swung  himself  behind  it  with  such  im- 
petuosity that,  going  right  round  in  the  very  flash  and 
report  of  the  pistol-shot,  he  reappeared  on  the  other 
side  of  the  tree  face  to  face  with  General  Feraud.  This 
last,  completely  unstrung  by  such  a  show  of  agility  on 
the  part  of  a  dead  man,  was  trembling  yet.  A  very 
faint  mist  of  smoke  hung  before  his  face  which  had  an 
extraordinary  aspect,  as  if  the  lower  jaw  had  come  un- 
hinged. 

"Not  missed!"  he  croaked  hoarsely  from  the  depths 
of  a  dry  throat. 

This  sinister  sound  loosened  the  spell  that  had  fallen 
on  General  D'Hubert's  senses.     "Yes,  missed — d.  bout 


316  A  SET  OF  SIX 

portant,^'  he  heard  himself  saying,  almost  before  he  had 
recovered  the  full  command  of  his  faculties.  The  re- 
vulsion of  feeling  was  accompanied  by  a  gust  of  homi- 
cidal fury,  resuming  in  its  violence  the  accumulated 
resentment  of  a  lifetime.  For  years  General  D'Hubert 
had  been  exasperated  and  humiliated  by  an  atrocious 
absurdity  imposed  upon  him  by  this  man's  savage 
caprice.  Besides,  General  D'Hubert  had  been  in  this 
last  instance  too  unwilling  to  confront  death  for  the  re- 
action of  his  anguish  not  to  take  the  shape  of  a  desire  to 
kill.  "And  I  have  my  two  shots  to  fire  yet,"  he  added 
pitilessly. 

General  Feraud  snapped-to  his  teeth,  and  his  face 
assumed  an  irate,  undaunted  expression.  "Go  on!" 
he  said  grimly. 

These  would  have  been  his  last  words  if  General 
D'Hubert  had  been  holding  the  pistols  in  his  hands. 
But  the  pistols  were  lying  on  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  a 
pine.  General  D'Hubert  had  the  second  of  leisure  neces- 
sary to  remember  that  he  had  dreaded  death  not  as  a  man, 
but  as  a  lover;  not  as  a  danger,  but  as  a  rival;  not  as  a 
foe  to  life,  but  as  an  obstacle  to  marriage.  And  behold! 
there  was  the  rival  defeated! — utterly  defeated,  crushed, 
done  for! 

He  picked  up  the  weapons  mechanically,  and,  instead 
of  firing  them  into  General  Feraud's  breast,  he  gave  ex- 
pression to  the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind,  "You 
will  fight  no  more  duels  now." 


THE  DUEL  317 

His  tone  of  leisurely,  ineffable  satisfaction  was  too 
much  for  General  Feraud's  stoicism.  "Don't  dawdle, 
then,  damn  you  for  a  cold-blooded  staff-coxcomb!"  he 
roared  out  suddenly,  out  of  an  impassive  face  held 
erect  on  a  rigidly  still  body. 

General  D'Hubert  uncocked  the  pistols  carefully. 
This  proceeding  was  observed  with  mixed  feelings  by 
the  other  general.  "You  missed  me  twice,"  the  victor 
said  coolly,  shifting  both  pistols  to  one  hand;  "the  last 
time  within  a  foot  or  so.  By  every  rule  of  single  com- 
bat your  life  belongs  to  me.  That  does  not  mean  that  I 
want  to  take  it  now." 

"I  have  no  use  for  your  forbearance,"  muttered 
General  Feraud  gloomily. 

"Allow  me  to  point  out  that  this  is  no  concern  of 
mine,"  said  General  D'Hubert,  whose  every  word  was 
dictated  by  a  consummate  delicacy  of  feeling.  In 
anger  he  could  have  killed  that  man,  but  in  cold  blood 
he  recoiled  from  humiliating  by  a  show  of  generosity 
this  unreasonable  being — a  fellow-soldier  of  the  Grande 
ArmSe,  a  companion  in  the  wonders  and  terrors  of  the 
great  military  epic.  "  You  don't  set  up  the  pretension  of 
dictating  to  me  what  I  am  to  do  with  what's  my  own." 

General  Feraud  looked  startled,  and  the  other  con- 
tinued: "You've  forced  me  on  a  point  of  honour  to  keep 
my  life  at  your  disposal,  as  it  were,  for  fifteen  years. 
Very  well.  Now  that  the  matter  is  decided  to  my  ad- 
vantage, I  am  going  to  do  what  I  like  with  your  life  on 


318  A  SET  OF  SIX 

the  same  principle.  You  shall  keep  it  at  my  disposal  as 
long  as  I  choose.  Neither  more  nor  less.  You  are  on 
your  honour  till  I  say  the  word.'* 

"I  am!  But,  sacrebleu!  This  is  an  absurd  position 
for  a  General  of  the  Empire  to  be  placed  in!"  cried 
General  Feraud,  in  accents  of  profound  and  dismayed 
conviction.  "It  amounts  to  sitting  all  the  rest  of  my 
life  with  a  loaded  pistol  in  a  drawer  waiting  for  your 
word.  It's — it's  idiotic;  I  shall  be  an  object  of — of — 
derision." 

"Absurd.f^ — idioticf^  Do  you  think  so?"  queried 
General  D'Hubert  with  sly  gravity.  "Perhaps.  But 
I  don't  see  how  that  can  be  helped.  However,  I  am 
not  likely  to  talk  at  large  of  this  adventure.  Nobody 
need  ever  know  anything  about  it.  Just  as  no  one  to 
this  day,  I  believe,  knows  the  origin  of  our  quarrel. 
.  .  .  Not  a  word  more,"  he  added  hastily.  "I  can't 
really  discuss  this  question  with  a  man  who,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  does  not  exist." 

When  the  two  duellists  came  out  into  the  open,  Gen- 
eral Feraud  walking  a  little  behind,  and  rather  with  the 
air  of  walking  in  a  trance,  the  two  seconds  hurried 
toward  them,  each  from  his  station  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood.  General  D'Hubert  addressed  them,  speaking 
loud  and  distinctly:  "Messieurs,  I  make  it  a  point  of 
declaring  to  you  solemnly,  in  the  presence  of  General 
Feraud,  that  our  difference  is  at  last  settled  for  good. 
You  may  inform  all  the  world  of  that  fact." 


THE  DUEL  319 

"A  reconciliation,  after  all!"  they  exclaimed  to- 
gether. 

*'ReconcOiation?  Not  that  exactly.  It  is  something 
much  more  binding.     Is  it  not  so,  General.'" 

General  Feraud  only  lowered  his  head  in  sign  of 
assent.  The  two  veterans  looked  at  each  other.  Later 
in  the  day,  when  they  found  themselves  alone  out  of 
their  moody  friend's  earshot,  the  cuirassier  remarked 
suddenly:  "Generally  speaking,  I  can  see  with  my  one 
eye  as  far  as  most  people;  but  this  beats  me.  He  won't 
say  anything." 

"In  this  affair  of  honour  I  understand  there  has  been 
from  first  to  last  always  something  that  no  one  in  the 
army  could  quite  make  out,"  declared  the  chasseur 
with  the  imperfect  nose.  "In  mystery  it  began,  in 
mystery  it  went  on,  in  mystery  it  is  to  end,  apparently." 

General  D'Hubert  walked  home  with  long,  hasty 
strides,  by  no  means  uplifted  by  a  sense  of  triumph. 
He  had  conquered,  yet  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that  he 
had  gained  very  much  by  his  conquest.  The  night 
before  he  had  grudged  the  risk  of  his  life  which  appeared 
to  him  magnificent,  worthy  of  preservation  as  an 
opportunity  to  win  a  girl's  love.  He  had  known 
moments  when,  by  a  marvellous  illusion,  this  love 
seemed  to  be  already  his,  and  his  threatened  life  a  still 
more  magnificent  opportunity  of  devotion.  Now  that 
his  life  was  safe  it  had  suddenly  lost  its  special  mag- 
nificence.    It  had  acquired  instead  a  specially  alarming 


320  A  SET  OF  SIX 

aspect  as  a  snare  for  the  exposure  of  unworthiness.  As 
to  the  marvellous  illusion  of  conquered  love  that  had 
visited  him  for  a  moment  in  the  agitated  watches  of  the 
night,  which  might  have  been  his  last  on  earth,  he  com- 
prehended now  its  true  nature.  It  had  been  merely  a 
paroxysm  of  delirious  conceit.  Thus  to  this  man, 
sobered  by  the  victorious  issue  of  a  duel,  life  appeared 
robbed  of  its  charm,  simply  because  it  was  no  longer 
menaced. 

Approaching  the  house  from  the  back,  through  the 
orchard  and  the  kitchen  garden,  he  could  not  notice  the 
agitation  which  reigned  in  front.  He  never  met  a 
single  soul.  Only  while  walking  softly  along  the  corridor, 
he  became  aware  that  the  house  was  awake  and  more 
noisy  that  usual.  Names  of  servants  were  being  called 
out  down  below  in  a  confused  noise  of  coming  and  going. 
With  some  concern  he  noticed  that  the  door  of  his  own 
room  stood  ajar,  though  the  shutters  had  not  been 
opened  yet.  He  had  hoped  that  his  early  excursion 
would  have  passed  unperceived.  He  expected  to  find 
some  servant  just  gone  in;  but  the  sunshine  filtering 
through  the  usual  cracks  enabled  him  to  see  lying  on 
the  low  divan  something  bulky,  which  had  the  appear- 
ance of  two  women  clasped  in  each  other's  arms.  Tear- 
ful and  desolate  murmurs  issued  mysteriously  from  that 
appearance.  General  D'Hubert  pulled  open  the  near- 
est pair  of  shutters  violently.  One  of  the  women  then 
jumped  up.     It  was  his  sister.     She  stood  for  a  moment 


THE  DUEL  321 

/fith  her  hair  hanging  down  and  her  arms  raised  straight 
up  above  her  head,  and  then  flung  herself  with  a  stifled 
cry  into  his  arms.  He  returned  her  embrace,  trying  at 
the  same  time  to  disengage  himself  from  it.  The  other 
woman  had  not  risen.  She  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  to 
cling  closer  to  the  divan,  hiding  her  face  in  the  cushions. 
Her  hair  was  also  loose;  it  was  admirably  fair.  General 
D'Hubert  recognized  it  with  staggering  emotion.  Made- 
moiselle de  Valmassigue!     Adele!     In  distress! 

He  became  greatly  alarmed,  and  got  rid  of  his  sister's 
hug  definitely.  Madame  Leonie  then  extended  her 
shapely  bare  arm  out  of  her  peignoir,  pointing  dramati- 
cally at  the  divan.  "This  poor,  terrified  child  has 
rushed  here  from  home,  on  foot,  two  miles — running  all 
the  way." 

"What  on  earth  has  happened?"  asked  General 
D'Hubert  in  a  low,  agitated  voice. 

But  Madame  Leonie  was  speaking  loudly.  *'She 
rang  the  great  bell  at  the  gate  and  roused  all  the  house- 
hold— we  were  all  asleep  yet.  You  may  imagine  what 
a  terrible  shock.  .  .  .  Adele,  my  dear  child,  sit 
up." 

General  D 'Hubert's  expression  was  not  that  of  a 
man  who  "imagines"  with  facility.  He  did,  however, 
fish  out  of  the  chaos  of  surmises  the  notion  that  his 
prospective  mother-in-law  had  died  suddenly,  but  only 
to  dismiss  it  at  once.  He  could  not  conceive  the  nature 
of  the  event  or  the  catastrophe  which  could  induce 


322  A  SET  OF  SIX 

Mademoiselle  de  Valmassigue,  living  in  a  house  full  of 
servants,  to  bring  the  news  over  the  fields  herself,  two 
miles,  running  all  the  way. 

"But  why  are  you  in  this  room?"  he  whispered,  full 
of  awe. 

"Of  course,  I  ran  up  to  see,  and  this  child  ...  I 
did  not  notice  it  .  .  .  she  followed  me.  It's  that 
absurd  Chevalier,"  went  on  Madame  Leonie,  looking 
toward  the  divan.  .  .  .  "Her  hair  is  all  come 
down.  You  may  imagine  she  did  not  stop  to  call  her 
maid  to  dress  it  before  she  started.  .  .  .  Adele,  my 
dear,  sit  up.  .  .  .  He  blurted  it  all  out  to  her  at 
half-past  five  in  the  morning.  She  woke  up  early  and 
opened  her  shutters  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  saw 
him  sitting  collapsed  on  a  garden  bench  at  the  end  of  the 
great  alley.  At  that  hour — you  may  imagine !  And  the 
evening  before  he  had  declared  himself  indisposed.  She 
hurried  on  some  clothes  and  flew  down  to  him.  One 
would  be  anxious  for  less.  He  loves  her,  but  not  very 
intelligently.  He  had  been  up  all  night,  fully  dressed, 
the  poor  old  man,  perfectly  exhausted.  He  wasn't  in  a 
state  to  invent  a  plausible  story.  .  .  .  What  a  con- 
fidant you  chose  there !  My  husband  was  furious.  He 
said :  '  We  can't  interfere  now.'  So  we  sat  down  to  wait. 
It  was  awful!  And  this  poor  child  running  with  her 
hair  loose  over  here  publicly!  She  has  been  seen  by 
some  people  in  the  fields.  She  has  roused  the  whole 
household,  too.     It's  awkward  for  her.     Luckily  you  are 


THE  DUEL  323 

to  be  married  next  week.  .  .  .  Adele,  sit  up.  He 
has  come  home  on  his  own  legs.  .  .  .  We  expected 
to  see  you  coming  on  a  stretcher,  perhaps — what  do  I 
know.'  Go  and  see  if  the  carriage  is  ready.  I  must 
take  this  child  home  at  once.  It  isn't  proper  for  her  to 
stay  here  a  minute  longer." 

General  D 'Hubert  did  not  move.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  heard  nothing.  INIadame  Leonie  changed  her 
mind.     "I  will  go  and  see  myself,"  she  cried.     "I  want 

also  my  cloak.     Adele "  she  began,  but  did  not  add 

"sit  up."  She  went  out  saying,  in  a  very  loud  and 
cheerful  tone:  "I  leave  the  door  open." 

General  D'Hubert  made  a  movement  toward  the 
divan,  but  then  Adele  sat  up,  and  that  checked  him 
dead.  He  thought,  "I  haven't  washed  this  morning. 
I  must  look  like  an  old  tramp.  There's  earth  on  the 
back  of  my  coat  and  pine-needles  in  my  hair."  It 
occurred  to  him  that  the  situation  required  a  good  deal 
of  circumspection  on  his  part. 

*'I  am  greatly  concerned,  mademoiselle,"  he  began 
vaguely,  and  abandoned  that  line.  She  was  sitting  up 
on  the  divan  with  her  cheeks  unusually  pink  and  her 
hair,  brilliantly  fair,  falling  over  her  shoulders — which 
was  a  very  novel  sight  to  the  General.  He  walked  away 
up  the  room,  and  looking  out  of  the  window  for  safety, 
said:  "I  fear  you  must  think  I  behaved  like  a  madman," 
in  accents  of  sincere  despair.  Then  he  spun  round,  and 
noticed  that  she  had  followed  him  with  her  eyes.     They 


324  A  SET  OF  SIX 

were  not  cast  down  on  meeting  his  glance.  And  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face  was  novel  to  him  also.  It  was,  one 
might  have  said,  reversed.  Those  eyes  looked  at  him 
with  grave  thoughtfulness,  while  the  exquisite  lines  of 
her  mouth  seemed  to  suggest  a  restrained  smile.  This 
change  made  her  transcendental  beauty  much  less  mys- 
terious, much  more  accessible  to  a  man's  comprehen- 
sion. An  amazing  ease  of  mind  came  to  the  General — 
and  even  some  ease  of  manner.  He  walked  down  the 
room  with  as  much  pleasurable  excitement  as  he  would 
have  found  in  walking  up  to  a  battery  vomiting  death, 
fire,  and  smoke;  then  stood  looking  down  with  smiling 
eyes  at  the  girl  whose  marriage  with  him  (next  week) 
had  been  so  carefully  arranged  by  the  wise,  the  good, 
the  admirable  Leonie. 

**Ah!  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  courtly 
regret,  **if  only  I  could  be  certain  that  you  did  not 
come  here  this  morning,  two  miles,  running  all  the  way, 
merely  from  affection  for  your  mother." 

He  waited  for  an  answer  imperturbable  but  inwardly 
elated.  It  came  in  a  demure  murmur,  eyelashes  lowered 
with  fascinating  effect:  "You  must  not  be  mechant  as 
well  as  mad." 

And  then  General  D 'Hubert  made  an  aggressive 
movement  toward  the  divan  which  nothing  could  check: 
That  piece  of  furniture  was  not  exactly  in  the  line  of  the 
open  door.  But  Madame  Leonie,  coming  back  wrapped 
up  in  a  Ught  cloak  and  carrying  a  lace  shawl  on  her 


THE  DUEL  325 

arm  for  Adele  to  hide  her  incriminating  hair  under, 
had  a  swift  impression  of  her  brother  getting  up  from 
his  knees. 

"Come  along,  my  dear  child,"  she  cried  from  the 
doorway. 

The  General,  now  himself  again  in  the  fullest  sense, 
showed  the  readiness  of  a  resourceful  cavalry  officer  and 
the  peremptoriness  of  a  leader  of  men.  "You  don't 
expect  her  to  walk  to  the  carriage,"  he  said  indignantly. 
"She  isn't  fit.     I  shall  carry  her  downstairs." 

This  he  did  slowly,  followed  by  his  awed  and  respect- 
ful sister;  but  he  rushed  back  like  a  whirlwind  to  wash  off 
all  the  signs  of  the  night  of  anguish  and  the  morning  of 
war,  and  to  put  on  the  festive  garments  of  a  conqueror 
before  hurrying  over  to  the  other  house.  Had  it  not 
been  for  that.  General  D  'Hubert  felt  capable  of  mount- 
ing ahorse  and  pursuing  his  late  adversary  in  order  simply 
to  embrace  him  from  excess  of  happiness.  "I  owe  it  all 
to  this  stupid  brute,"  he  thought.  "He  has  made 
plain  in  a  morning  what  might  have  taken  me  years 
to  find  out — for  I  am  a  timid  fool.  No  self-confidence 
whatever.  Perfect  coward.  And  the  Chevalier!  De- 
lightful old  man!"  General  D'Hubert  longed  to  em- 
brace him  also. 

The  Chevalier  was  in  bed.  For  several  days  he  was 
very  unwell.  The  men  of  the  Empire  and  the  post- 
revolution  young  ladies  were  too  much  for  him.  He 
got  up  the  day  before  the  wedding,  and,  being  curious  by 


326  A  SET  OF  SIX 

nature,  took  his  niece  aside  for  a  quiet  talk.  He  advised 
her  to  find  out  from  her  husband  the  true  story  of  the 
affair  of  honour,  whose  claim,  so  imperative  and  so 
persistent,  had  led  her  to  within  an  ace  of  tragedy.  "It 
is  right  that  his  wife  should  be  told.  And  next  month 
or  so  will  be  your  time  to  learn  from  him  anything  you 
want  to  know,  my  dear  child." 

Later  on,  when  the  married  couple  came  on  a  visit  to 
the  mother  of  the  bride,  Madame  la  Generale  D'Hubert 
communicated  to  her  beloved  old  uncle  the  true  story 
she  had  obtained  without  any  difficulty  from  her  hus- 
band. 

The  Chevalier  listened  with  deep  attention  to  the 
end,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  flicked  the  grains  of  tobacco 
from  the  frilled  front  of  his  shirt,  and  asked  calmly, 
"And  that's  all  it  was!" 

"Yes,  uncle,"  replied  Madame  la  Generale,  opening 
her  pretty  eyes  very  wide.  "Isn't  it  funny?  C'est 
insense — to  think  what  men  are  capable  of!" 

"H'm!"  commented  the  old  SmigrS.  "It  depends 
what  sort  of  men.  That  Bonaparte's  soldiers  were 
savages.  It  is  insense.  As  a  wife,  my  dear,  you  must 
believe  implicitly  what  your  husband  says." 

But  to  Leonie's  husband  the  Chevalier  confided  his 
true  opinion.  "If  that's  the  tale  the  fellow  made  up 
for  his  wife,  and  during  the  honeymoon,  too,  you  may 
depend  on  it  that  no  one  will  ever  know  now  the  secret 
of  this  affair." 


THE  DUEL  327 

Considerably  later  still,  General  D 'Hubert  judged 
the  time  come,  and  the  opportunity  propitious  to  write 
a  letter  to  General  Feraud.  This  letter  began  by  dis- 
claiming all  animosity.  "I've  never,"  wrote  the  Gen- 
eral Baron  D 'Hubert,  "wished  for  your  death  during 
all  the  time  of  our  deplorable  quarrel.  Allow  me,"  he 
continued,  "to  give  you  back  in  all  form  your  forfeited 
life.  It  is  proper  that  we  two,  who  have  been  partners 
in  so  much  military  glory,  should  be  friendly  to  each 
other  pubhcly." 

The  same  letter  contained  also  an  item  of  domestic 
information.  It  was  in  reference  to  this  last  that  Gen- 
eral Feraud  answered  from  a  little  village  on  the  banks 
of  the  Garonne,  in  the  following  words : 

"If  one  of  your  boy's  names  had  been  Napoleon — or 
Joseph — or  even  Joachim,  I  could  congratulate  you  on 
the  event  with  a  better  heart.  As  you  have  thought 
proper  to  give  him  the  names  of  Charles  Henri  Armand, 
I  am  confirmed  in  my  conviction  that  you  never  loved 
the  Emperor.  The  thought  of  that  sublime  hero 
chained  to  a  rock  in  the  middle  of  a  savage  ocean  makes 
life  of  so  little  value  that  I  would  receive  with  positive 
joy  your  instructions  to  blow  my  brains  out.  From 
suicide  I  consider  myself  in  honour  debarred.  But  I 
keep  a  loaded  pistol  in  my  drawer." 

Madame  la  Generale  D'Hubert  lifted  up  her  hands 
in  despair  after  perusing  that  answer. 

"You  see.'*     He  wonH  be  reconciled,"  said  her  hus- 


328  A  SET  OF  SIX 

band.  "He  must  never,  by  any  chance,  be  allowed  to 
guess  where  the  money  cojnes  from.  It  wouldn't  do. 
He  couldn't  bear  it." 

"You  are  a  hrave  homme,  Armand,"  said  Madame 
la  Gen^rale  appreciatively. 

"My  dear,  I  had  the  right  to  blow  his  brains  out; 
but  as  I  didn't,  we  can't  let  him  starve.  He  has  lost  his 
pension  and  he  is  utterly  incapable  of  doing  anything 
in  the  world  for  himself.  We  must  take  care  of  him, 
secretly,  to  the  end  of  his  days.  Don't  I  owe  him  the 
most  ecstatic  moment  of  my  life.'*  .  .  .  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
Over  the  fields,  two  miles,  running  all  the  way!  I 
couldn't  believe  my  ears!  .  .  .  But  for  his  stupid 
ferocity,  it  would  have  taken  me  years  to  find  you  out. 
It's  extraordinary  how  in  one  way  or  another  this  man 
has  managed  to  fasten  himself  on  my  deeper  feelings." 


A  PATHETIC  TALE 


IL  CONDE 

*'  Vedi  Napoli  e  poi  mori.** 

THE  first  time  we  got  into  conversation  was  in 
the  National  Museum  in  Naples,  in  the  rooms 
on  the  ground  floor  containing  the  famous 
collection  of  bronzes  from  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii: 
that  marvellous  legacy  of  antique  art  whose  delicate 
perfection  has  been  preserved  for  us  by  the  catastro- 
phic fury  of  a  volcano. 

He  addressed  me  first,  over  the  celebrated  Resting 
Hermes  which  we  had  been  looking  at  side  by  side.  He 
said  the  right  things  about  the  wholly  admirable  piece. 
Nothing  profound.  His  taste  was  natural  rather  than 
cultivated.  He  had  obviously  seen  many  fine  things  in 
his  life  and  appreciated  them:  but  he  had  no  jargon  of  a 
dilettante  or  the  connoisseur.  A  hateful  tribe.  He 
spoke  like  a  fairly  intelligent  man  of  the  world,  a  per- 
fectly unaffected  gentleman. 

We  had  known  each  other  by  sight  for  some  few 
days  past.  Staying  in  the  same  hotel — good,  but  not 
extravagantly  up  to  date — I  had  noticed  him  in  the 
vestibule  going  in  and  out.  I  judged  he  was  an  old  and 
valued  client.     The  bow  of  the  hotel-keeper  was  cordial 

8S1 


332  A  SET  OF  SIX 

in  its  deference,  and  he  acknowledged  it  with  familiar 
courtesy.  For  the  servants  he  was  II  Conde.  There 
was  some  squabble  over  a  man's  parasol — yellow  silk 
with  white  lining  sort  of  thing — the  waiters  had  dis- 
covered abandoned  outside  the  dining-room  door.  Our 
gold-laced  door-keeper  recognized  it  and  I  heard  him 
directing  one  of  the  lift  boys  to  run  after  7Z  Conde  with 
it.  Perhaps  he  was  the  only  Count  staying  in  the  hotel, 
or  perhaps  he  had  the  distinction  of  being  the  Count  far 
excellence,  conferred  upon  him  because  of  his  tried  fidel- 
ity to  the  house. 

Having  conversed  at  the  Museo — (and  by  the  by  he 
had  expressed  his  dislike  of  the  busts  and  statues  of 
Roman  emperors  in  the  gallery  of  marbles:  their  faces 
were  too  vigorous,  too  pronounced  for  him) — having 
conversed  already  in  the  morning,  I  did  not  think  I  was 
intruding  when  in  the  evening,  finding  the  dining-room 
very  full,  I  proposed  to  share  his  little  table.  Judging 
by  the  quiet  urbanity  of  his  consent  he  did  not  think 
so  either.     His  smile  was  very  attractive. 

He  dined  in  an  evening  waistcoat  and  a  "smoking" 
(he  called  it  so)  with  a  black  tie.  All  this  of  very  good 
cut,  not  new — just  as  these  things  should  be.  He  was, 
morning  or  evening,  very  correct  in  his  dress.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  his  whole  existence  had  been  correct, 
well  ordered  and  conventional,  undisturbed  by  startling 
events.  His  white  hair,  brushed  upward  off  a  lofty 
forehead,  gave  him  the  air  of  an  idealist,  of  an  imagi- 


IL  CONDE  333 

native  man.  His  white  moustache,  heavy  but  carefully 
trimmed  and  arranged,  was  not  unpleasantly  tinted  a 
golden  yellow  in  the  middle.  The  faint  scent  of  some 
very  good  perfume,  and  of  good  cigars  (that  last  odour 
quite  remarkable  to  come  upon  in  Italy)  reached  me 
across  the  table.  It  was  in  his  eyes  that  his  age  showed 
most.  They  were  a  little  weary  with  creased  eyelids. 
He  must  have  been  sixty  or  a  couple  of  years  more.  And 
he  was  communicative.  I  would  not  go  so  far  as  to 
call  it  garrulous — but  distinctly  communicative. 

He  had  tried  various  climates,  of  Abbazia,  of  the 
Riviera,  of  other  places,  too,  he  told  me;  but  the  only 
one  which  suited  him  was  the  climate  of  the  Gulf  of 
Naples.  The  ancient  Romans,  who,  he  pointed  out  to 
me,  were  men  expert  in  the  art  of  living,  knew  very  well 
what  they  were  doing  when  they  built  their  villas  on 
these  shores,  in  Baise,  in  Vico,  in  Capri.  They  came 
down  to  this  seaside  in  search  of  health,  bringing  with 
them  their  trains  of  mimes  and  flute-players  to  amuse 
their  leisiu'e.  He  thought  it  extremely  probable  that  the 
Romans  of  the  higher  classes  were  specially  predisposed 
to  painful  rheumatic  affections. 

This  was  the  only  personal  opinion  I  heard  him 
express.  It  was  based  on  no  special  erudition.  He 
knew  no  more  of  the  Romans  than  an  average  informed 
man  of  the  world  is  expected  to  know.  He  argued 
from  personal  experience.  He  had  suffered  himself 
from  a  painful  and  dangerous  rheumatic  affection  till 


334  A  SET  OF  SIX 

he  found  relief  in  this  particular  spot  of  southern 
Europe. 

This  was  three  years  ago,  and  ever  since  he  had 
taken  up  his  quarters  on  the  shores  of  the  gulf,  either  in 
one  of  the  hotels  in  Sorrento  or  hiring  a  small  villa  in 
Capri.  He  had  a  piano,  a  few  books:  picked  up  tran- 
sient acquaintances  of  a  day,  week,  or  month  in  the 
stream  of  travellers  from  all  Europe.  One  can  imagine 
him  going  out  for  his  walks  in  the  streets  and  lanes, 
becoming  known  to  beggars,  shopkeepers,  children, 
country  people;  talking  amiably  over  the  walls  to  the 
contadini — and  coming  back  to  his  rooms  or  his  villa  to 
sit  before  the  piano,  with  his  white  hair  brushed  up  and 
his  thick  orderly  moustache,  "to  make  a  little  music  for 
myself."  And,  of  course,  for  a  change  there  was  Naples 
near  by — life,  movement,  animation,  opera.  A  little 
amusement,  as  he  said,  is  necessary  for  health.  Mimes 
and  flute-players,  in  fact.  Only,  unlike  the  magnates 
of  ancient  Rome,  he  had  no  affairs  of  the  city  to  call  him 
away  from  these  moderate  delights.  He  had  no  affairs 
at  all.  Probably  he  had  never  had  any  grave  affairs  to 
attend  to  in  his  life.  It  was  a  kindly  existence,  with  its 
joys  and  sorrows  regulated  by  the  course  of  Nature — 
marriages,  births,  deaths — ruled  by  the  prescribed 
usages  of  good  society  and  protected  by  the  State. 

He  was  a  widower;  but  in  the  months  of  July  and 
August  he  ventured  to  cross  the  Alps  for  six  weeks  on  a 
visit  to  his  married  daughter.     He  told  me  her  name. 


EL  CONDE  335 

It  was  that  of  a  very  aristocratic  family.  She  had  a 
castle — in  Bohemia,  I  think.  This  is  as  near  as  I  ever 
came  to  ascertaining  his  nationality.  His  own  name, 
strangely  enough,  he  never  mentioned.  Perhaps  he 
thought  I  had  seen  it  on  the  published  list.  Truth  to 
say,  I  never  looked.  At  any  rate,  he  was  a  good 
European — he  spoke  four  languages  to  my  certain 
knowledge — and  a  man  of  fortune.  Not  of  great  for- 
tune, evidently  and  appropriately.  I  imagine  that  to 
be  extremely  rich  would  have  appeared  to  him  im- 
proper, outre — too  blatant  altogether.  And  obviously, 
too,  the  fortune  was  not  of  liis  making.  The  making  of 
a  fortune  cannot  be  acliieved  without  some  roughness. 
It  is  a  matter  of  temperament.  His  nature  was  too 
kindly  for  strife.  In  the  course  of  conversation  he 
mentioned  liis  estate  quite  by  the  way,  in  reference  to 
that  painful  and  alarming  rheumatic  affection.  One 
year,  staying  incautiously  beyond  the  Alps  as  late  as 
the  middle  of  September,  he  had  been  laid  up  for  three 
months  in  that  lonely  country  house  with  no  one  but  his 
valet  and  the  caretaking  couple  to  attend  to  him. 
IBecause,  as  he  expressed  it,  he  "kept  no  establishment 
there."  He  had  only  gone  for  a  couple  of  days  to  confer 
with  his  land  agent.  He  promised  himself  never  to  be 
so  imprudent  in  the  future.  The  first  weeks  of  Sep- 
tember would  find  him  on  the  shores  of  his  beloved  gulf. 
Sometimes  in  travelling  one  comes  upon  such  lonely 
men,  whose  onlv  business  is  to  wait  for  the  unavoidable. 


336  A  SET  OF  SIX 

Deaths  and  marriages  have  made  a  sohtude  round  them, 
and  one  really  cannot  blame  their  endeavours  to  make 
the  waiting  as  easy  as  possible.  As  he  remarked  to  me : 
"At  my  time  of  life  freedom  from  physical  pain  is  a  very 
important  matter." 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  he  was  a  wearisome 
hypochondriac.  He  was  really  much  too  well-bred  to 
be  a  nuisance.  He  had  an  eye  for  the  small  weak- 
nesses of  humanity.  But  it  was  a  good-natured  eye. 
He  made  a  restful,  easy,  pleasant  companion  for  the 
hours  between  dinner  and  bedtime.  We  spent  three 
evenings  together,  and  then  I  had  to  leave  Naples  in  a 
hurry  to  look  after  a  friend  who  had  fallen  seriously  ill 
in  Taormina.  Having  nothing  to  do,  II  Conde  came  to 
see  me  off  at  the  station.  I  was  somewhat  upset,  and 
his  idleness  was  always  ready  to  take  a  kindly  form. 
He  was  by  no  means  an  indolent  man. 

He  went  along  the  train  peering  into  the  carriages 
for  a  good  seat  for  me,  and  then  remained  talking 
cheerily  from  below.  He  declared  he  would  miss  me 
that  evening  very  much,  and  announced  his  intention  of 
going  after  dinner  to  listen  to  the  band  in  the  public 
garden,  the  Villa  Nazionale.  He  would  amuse  himself 
by  hearing  excellent  music  and  looking  at  the  best 
society.     There  would  be  a  lot  of  people,  as  usual. 

I  seem  to  see  him  yet — his  raised  face  with  a  friendly 
smile  under  the  thick  moustaches,  and  his  kind,  fatigued 
eyes.     As  the  train  began  to  move,  he  addressed  me  in 


IL  CONDE  337 

two  languages:  first  in  French,  saying,  ''Bon  voyage"; 
then,  in  his  very  good,  somewhat  emphatic  EngHsh, 
encouragingly,  because  he  could  see  my  concern:  "All 
will — be — well — yet ! " 

My  friend's  illness  having  taken  a  decidedly  favour- 
able turn,  I  returned  to  Naples  on  the  tenth  day.  I 
cannot  say  I  had  given  much  thought  to  //  Conde  during 
my  absence,  but  entering  the  dining-room  I  looked  for 
him  in  his  habitual  place.  I  had  an  idea  he  might  have 
gone  back  to  Sorrento  to  his  piano  and  his  books  and 
his  fishing.  He  was  great  friends  with  all  the  boatmen, 
and  fished  a  good  deal  with  lines  from  a  boat.  But  I 
made  out  his  white  head  in  a  crowd  of  heads,  and  even 
from  a  distance  noticed  something  unusual  in  his  atti- 
tude. Instead  of  sitting  erect,  gazing  all  round  with 
alert  urbanity,  he  drooped  over  his  plate.  I  stood 
opposite  him  for  some  time  before  he  looked  up,  a  little 
wildly,  if  such  a  strong  word  can  be  used  in  connection 
with  his  correct  appearance. 

"Ah,  my  dear  sir!  Is  it  you.^"  he  greeted  me.  "I 
hope  all  is  well." 

He  was  very  nice  about  my  friend.  Indeed,  he  was 
always  nice,  with  the  niceness  of  people  whose  hearts 
are  genuinely  humane.  But  this  time  it  cost  him  an 
effort.  His  attempts  at  general  conversation  broke  down 
into  dulness.  It  occurred  to  me  he  might  have  been  in- 
disposed. But  before  I  could  frame  the  inquiry  he 
muttered: 


338  A  SET  OF  SIX 

"You  find  me  here  very  sad." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,"  I  said.  "You  haven't  had 
bad  news,  I  hope.^*" 

It  was  very  kind  of  me  to  take  an  interest.  No.  It 
was  not  that.  No  bad  news,  thank  God.  And  he 
became  very  still,  as  if  holding  his  breath.  Then,  lean- 
ing forward  a  little,  and  in  an  odd  tone  of  awed  em- 
barrassment, he  took  me  into  his  confidence. 

"The  truth  is  that  I  have  had  a  very — a  very — how 
shall  I  say? — abominable  adventure  happen  to  me." 

The  energy  of  the  epithet  was  sufficiently  startling  in 
that  man  of  moderate  feelings  and  toned-down  vocabu- 
lary. The  word  unpleasant  I  should  have  thought 
would  have  fitted  amply  the  worst  experience  likely  to 
befall  a  man  of  his  stamp.  And  an  adventure,  too.  In- 
credible !  But  it  is  in  human  nature  to  believe  the  worst, 
and  I  confess  I  eyed  him  stealthily,  wondering  what  he 
had  been  up  to.  In  a  moment,  however,  my  unworthy 
suspicions  vanished.  There  was  a  fundamental  refine- 
ment of  nature  about  the  man  which  made  me  dismiss 
all  idea  of  some  more  or  less  disreputable  scrape. 

"It  is  very  serious.  Very  serious."  He  went  on 
nervously.  "I  will  tell  you  after  dinner,  if  you  will 
allow  me." 

I  expressed  my  perfect  acquiescence  by  a  little  bow, 
nothing  more.  I  wished  him  to  understand  that  I  was 
not  likely  to  hold  him  to  that  offer,  if  he  thought  better 
of  it  later  on.     We  talked  of  indifferent  things,  but  with  a 


IL  CONDE  339 

sense  of  difficulty  quite  unlike  our  former  easy,  gossipy 
intercourse.  The  hand  raising  a  piece  of  bread  to  his  hps, 
I  noticed,  trembled  slightly.  This  symptom,  in  regard 
of  my  reading  of  the  man,  was  no  less  than  startling. 

In  the  smoking-room  he  did  not  hang  back  at  all. 
Directly  we  had  taken  our  usual  seats  he  leaned  side- 
ways over  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  looked  straight  into 
my  eyes  earnestly. 

*'You  remember,"  he  began,  "that  day  you  went 
away.'^  I  told  you  then  I  would  go  to  the  Villa  Nazio- 
nale  to  hear  some  music  in  the  evening.'* 

I  remembered.  His  handsome  old  face,  so  fresh  for 
his  age,  unmarked  by  any  trying  experience,  appeared 
haggard  for  an  instant.  It  was  like  the  passing  of  a 
shadow.  Returning  his  steadfast  gaze,  I  took  a  sip  of 
ray  black  coffee.  He  was  systematically  minute  in  his 
narrative,  simply  in  order,  I  think,  not  to  let  his  ex- 
citement get  the  better  of  him. 

After  leaving  the  railway  station,  he  had  an  ice,  and 
read  the  paper  in  a  cafe.  Then  he  went  back  to  the 
hotel,  dressed  for  dinner,  and  dined  with  a  good  appetite. 
After  dinner  he  lingered  in  the  hall  (there  were  chairs 
and  tables  there)  smoking  his  cigar;  talked  to  the  little 
girl  of  the  Primo  Tenore  of  the  San  Carlo  theatre,  and 
exchanged  a  few  words  with  that  "amiable  lady,"  the 
wife  of  the  Primo  Tenore.  There  was  no  performance 
that  evening,  and  these  people  were  going  to  the  Villa 
also.     They  went  out  of  the  hotel.     Very  well. 


340  A  SET  OF  SIX 

At  the  moment  of  following  their  example — it  was 
half -past  nine  already — he  remembered  he  had  a  rather 
large  sum  of  money  in  his  pocket-book.  He  entered, 
therefore,  the  oflSce  and  deposited  the  greater  part  of  it 
with  the  book-keeper  of  the  hotel.  This  done,  he  took 
a  carozella  and  drove  to  the  seashore.  He  got  out  of  the 
cab  and  entered  the  Villa  on  foot  from  the  Largo  di 
Vittoria  end. 

He  stared  at  me  very  hard.  And  I  understood  then 
how  really  impressionable  he  was.  Every  small  fact 
and  event  of  that  evening  stood  out  in  his  memory  as  if 
endowed  with  mystic  significance.  If  he  did  not  mention 
to  me  the  colour  of  the  pony  which  drew  the  carozella, 
and  the  aspect  of  the  man  who  drove,  it  was  a  mere 
oversight  arising  from  his  agitation,  which  he  repressed 
manfully. 

He  had  then  entered  the  Villa  Nazionale  from  the 
Largo  di  Vittoria  end.  The  Villa  Nazionale  is  a  public 
pleasure-ground  laid  out  in  grass  plots,  bushes,  and 
flower-beds  between  the  houses  of  the  Riviera  di  Chiaja 
and  the  waters  of  the  bay.  Alleys  of  trees,  more  or  less 
parallel,  stretch  its  whole  length — which  is  considerable. 
On  the  Riviera  di  Chiaja  side  the  electric  tramcars  run 
close  to  the  railings.  Between  the  garden  and  the  sea 
is  the  fashionable  drive,  a  broad  road  bordered  by  a  low 
wall,  beyond  which  the  Mediterranean  splashes  with 
gentle  murmurs  when  the  weather  is  fine. 

As  life  goes  on  late  at  night  in  Naples,  the  broad 


IL  CONDE  841 

drive  was  all  astir  with  a  brilliant  swarm  of  carriage 
lamps  moving  in  pairs,  some  creeping  slowly,  others 
running  rapidly  under  the  thin  motionless  line  of  electric 
lamps  defining  the  shore.  And  a  brilliant  swarm  of 
stars  hung  above  the  land  humming  with  voices,  piled 
up  with  houses,  glittering  with  lights — and  over  the 
silent  flat  shadows  of  the  sea. 

The  gardens  themselves  are  not  very  well  lit.  Our 
friend  went  forward  in  the  warm  gloom,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  a  distant  luminous  region  extending  nearly  across 
the  whole  width  of  the  Villa,  as  if  the  air  had  glowed 
there  with  its  own  cold,  bluish,  and  dazzling  light.  This 
magic  spot,  behind  the  black  trunks  of  trees  and  masses 
of  inky  foliage,  breathed  out  sweet  sounds  mingled  with 
bursts  of  brassy  roar,  sudden  clashes  of  metal,  and  grave, 
vibrating  thuds. 

As  he  walked  on,  all  these  noises  combined  together 
into  a  piece  of  elaborate  music  whose  harmonious 
phrases  came  persuasively  through  a  great  disorderly 
murmur  of  voices  and  shuflSing  of  feet  on  the  gravel  of 
that  open  space.  An  enormous  crowd  immersed  in  the 
electric  light,  as  if  in  a  bath  of  some  radiant  and  ten- 
uous fluid  shed  upon  their  heads  by  luminous  globes, 
drifted  in  its  hundreds  round  the  band.  Hundreds 
more  sat  on  chairs  in  more  or  less  concentric  circles, 
receiving  unflinchingly  the  great  waves  of  sonority  that 
ebbed  out  into  the  darkness.  The  Count  penetrated 
the  throng,  drifted  with  it  in  tranquil  enjoyment,  listen- 


342  A  SET  OF  SIX 

ing,  and  looking  at  the  faces.  All  people  of  good  society: 
mothers  with  their  daughters,  parents  and  children, 
young  men  and  young  women  all  talking,  smiling, 
nodding  to  each  other.  Very  many  pretty  faces,  and 
very  many  pretty  toilettes.  There  was,  of  course,  a 
quantity  of  diverse  tjpes:  showy  old  fellows  with  white 
moustaches,  fat  men,  thin  men,  officers  in  uniform;  but 
what  predominated,  he  told  me,  was  the  South  Italian 
type  of  young  man,  with  a  colourless,  clear  complexion, 
red  lips,  jet-black  little  moustache,  and  liquid  black 
eyes  so  wonderfully  effective  in  leering  or  scowling. 

Withdrawing  from  the  throng,  the  Count  shared  a 
little  table  in  front  of  the  cafe  with  a  young  man  of  just 
such  a  type.  Our  friend  had  some  lemonade.  The 
young  man  was  sitting  moodily  before  an  empty  glass. 
He  looked  up  once,  and  then  looked  down  again.  He 
also  tilted  his  hat  forward.     Like  this: 

The  Count  made  a  gesture  of  a  man  pulling  his  hat 
down  over  his  brow,  and  went  on : 

"I  think  to  myself:  he  is  sad;  something  is  wrong 
with  him;  young  men  have  their  troubles.  I  take  no 
notice  of  him,  of  course.  I  pay  for  my  lemonade,  and 
go  away." 

Strolling  about  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  band, 
the  Count  thinks  he  saw  twice  that  young  man  wander- 
ing alone  in  the  crowd.  Once  their  eyes  met.  It  must 
have  been  the  same  young  man,  but  there  were  so  many 
there  of  that  type  that  he  could  not  be  certain.      More- 


IL  CONDE  343 

over,  he  was  not  very  much  concerned  except  in  so  far 
that  he  had  been  struck  by  the  marked,  peevish  discon- 
tent of  that  face. 

Presently,  tired  of  the  feeling  of  confinement  one  ex- 
periences in  a  crowd,  the  Count  edged  away  from  the 
band.  An  alley,  very  sombre  by  contrast,  presented 
itself  invitingly  with  its  promise  of  solitude  and  coolness. 
He  entered  it,  walking  slowly  on  till  the  sound  of  the 
orchestra  became  distinctly  deadened.  Then  he  walked 
back  and  turned  about  once  more.  He  did  this  several 
times  before  he  noticed  that  there  was  somebody  occu- 
pying one  of  the  benches. 

The  spot  being  midway  between  two  lamp-posts,  the 
light  was  faint. 

The  man  lolled  back  in  the  corner  of  his  seat,  his 
legs  stretched  out,  his  arms  folded,  and  his  head  droop- 
ing on  his  breast.  He  never  stirred,  as  though  he  had 
fallen  asleep  there,  but  when  the  Count  passed  by  next 
time  he  had  changed  his  attitude.  He  sat  leaning  for- 
ward. His  elbows  were  propped  on  his  knees,  and  his 
hands  were  rolling  a  cigarette.  He  never  looked  up 
from  that  occupation. 

The  Count  continued  his  stroll  away  from  the  band. 
He  returned  slowly,  he  said.  I  can  imagine  him  en- 
joying to  the  full,  but  with  his  usual  tranquillity,  the 
balminess  of  this  southern  night  and  the  sounds  of 
music  softened  delightfully  by  the  distance. 

Presently  he  approached  for  the  third  time  the  man 


344  A  SET  OF  SIX 

on  the  garden  seat,  still  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees.  It  was  a  dejected  pose.  In  the  semi- 
obscurity  of  the  alley  his  high  shirt  collar  and  his  cuffs 
made  small  patches  of  vivid  whiteness.  The  Count 
said  that  he  had  noticed  him  getting  up  brusquely,  as 
if  to  walk  away,  but  almost  before  he  was  aware  of  it 
the  man  stood  before  him  asking  in  a  low,  gentle  tone 
whether  the  signore  would  have  the  kindness  to  oblige 
him  with  a  light. 

The  Count  answered  this  request  by  a  polite  "  Cer- 
tainly," and  dropped  his  hands  with  the  intention  of 
exploring  both  pockets  of  his  trousers  for  the  matches. 

"I  dropped  my  hands,"  he  said,  "but  I  never  put 
them  in  my  pockets.     I  felt  a  pressure  there." 

He  put  the  tip  of  his  finger  on  a  spot  close  under  his 
breastbone,  the  very  spot  of  the  human  body  where  a 
Japanese  gentleman  begins  the  operation  of  the  hara- 
kiri,  which  is  a  form  of  suicide  following  upon  dis- 
honour, upon  an  intolerable  outrage  to  the  delicacy  of 
one's  feelings. 

"I  glance  down,"  the  Count  continued  in  an  awe- 
struck voice,  "and  what  do  I  see?  A  knife!  A  long 
knife " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  I  exclaimed  amazed,  "that 
you  have  been  held  up  like  this  in  the  Villa  at  half-past 
ten  o'clock,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  a  thousand  people!" 

He  nodded  several  times,  staring  at  me  with  all  his 
might. 


IL  CONDE  345 

"The  clarionet,"  he  declared  solemnly,  "was  finish- 
ing his  solo,  and  I  assure  you  I  could  hear  every  note. 
Then  the  band  crashed  fortissimo,  and  that  creature 
rolled  its  eyes  and  gnashed  its  teeth,  hissing  at  me  with 
the  greatest  ferocity,  'Be  silent!     No  noise  or ' " 

I  could  not  get  over  my  astonishment. 

"What  sort  of  knife  was  it.'  "  I  asked  stupidly. 

"A  long  blade.  A  stiletto — perhaps  a  kitchen  knife. 
A  long  narrow  blade.  It  gleamed.  And  his  eyes 
gleamed.  His  white  teeth,  too.  I  could  see  them.  He 
was  very  ferocious.  I  thought  to  myself:  Tf  I  hit  him 
he  will  kill  me.'  How  could  I  fight  with  him.?  He  had 
the  knife  and  I  had  nothing.  I  am  nearly  seventy,  you 
know,  and  that  was  a  young  man.  I  seemed  even  to 
recognize  him.  The  moody  young  man  of  the  cafe. 
The  young  man  I  met  in  the  crowd.  But  I  could  not 
tell.     There  are  so  many  like  him  in  this  country." 

The  distress  of  that  moment  was  reflected  in  his  face. 
I  should  think  that  physically  he  must  have  been  para- 
lyzed by  surprise.  His  thoughts,  however,  remained 
extremely  active.  They  ranged  over  every  alarming 
possibility.  The  idea  of  setting  up  a  vigorous  shouting 
for  help  occurred  to  him,  too.  But  he  did  nothing  of 
the  kind,  and  the  reason  why  he  refrained  gave  me  a 
good  opinion  of  his  mental  self-possession.  He  saw  in 
a  flash  that  nothing  prevented  the  other  from  shouting, 
too. 

"That  young  man  might  in  an  instant  have  thrown 


346  A  SET  OF  SIX 

away  his  knife  and  pretended  I  was  the  aggressor.  Why 
not?  He  might  have  said  I  attacked  him.  Why  not? 
It  was  one  incredible  story  against  another!  He  might 
have  said  anything — bring  some  dishonouring  charge 
against  me — what  do  I  know?  By  his  dress  he  was  no 
common  robber.  He  seemed  to  belong  to  the  better 
classes.  What  could  I  say?  He  was  an  Italian — I  am 
a  foreigner.  Of  course  I  have  my  passport,  and  there 
is  om*  consul — but  to  be  arrested,  dragged  at  night  to 
the  police  office  like  a  criminal !" 

He  shuddered.  It  was  in  his  character  to  shrink 
from  scandal  much  more  than  from  mere  death.  And 
certainly  for  many  people  this  would  have  always  re- 
mained— considering  certain  peculiarities  of  Neapoli- 
tan manners — a  deucedly  queer  story.  The  Count  was 
no  fool.  His  belief  in  the  respectable  placidity  of  life 
having  received  this  rude  shock,  he  thought  that  now 
anything  might  happen.  But  also  a  notion  came  into 
his  head  that  this  young  man  was  perhaps  merely  an 
infuriated  lunatic. 

This  was  for  me  the  first  hint  of  his  attitude  toward 
this  adventure.  In  his  exaggerated  delicacy  of  senti- 
ment he  felt  that  nobody's  self-esteem  need  be  affected 
by  what  a  madman  may  choose  to  do  to  one.  It  be- 
came apparent,  however,  that  the  Count  was  to  be 
denied  that  consolation.  He  enlarged  upon  the  abomi- 
nably savage  way  in  which  that  young  man  rolled  his 
glistening  eyes  and  gnashed  his  white  teeth.     The  band 


IL  CONDE  347 

was  going  now  through  a  slow  movement  of  solemn 
braying  by  all  the  trombones,  with  deliberately  repeated 
bangs  of  the  big  drum. 

"But  what  did  you  do?"  I  asked,  greatly  excited. 

"Nothing,"  answered  the  Count.  "I  let  my  hands 
hang  down  very  still.  I  told  him  quietly  I  did  not 
intend  making  a  noise.  He  snarled  like  a  dog,  then 
said  in  an  ordinary  voice: 

"  '  Vostro  porio  folio.' 

"So  I  naturally,"  continued  the  Count — and  from 
this  point  acted  the  whole  thing  in  pantomime.  Hold- 
ing me  with  his  eyes,  he  went  through  all  the  motions 
of  reaching  into  his  inside  breast-pocket,  taking  out  a 
pocket-book  and  handing  it  over.  But  that  young 
man,  still  bearing  steadily  on  the  knife,  refused  to 
touch  it. 

He  directed  the  Count  to  take  the  money  out  him- 
self, received  it  into  his  left  hand,  motioned  the  pocket- 
book  to  be  returned  to  the  pocket,  all  this  being  done  to 
the  sweet  thrilling  of  flutes  and  clarionets  sustained  by 
the  emotional  drone  of  the  hautboys.  And  the  "young 
man,"  as  the  Count  called  him,  said:  "This  seems  very 
little." 

"It  was,  indeed,  only  340  or  360  lire,"  the  Count 
pursued.  "I  had  left  my  money  in  the  hotel,  as  you 
know.  I  told  him  this  was  all  I  had  on  me.  He  shook 
his  head  impatiently  and  said: 

***  Vostro  orologio.*" 


348  A  SET  OF  SIX 

The  Count  gave  me  the  dumb  show  of  pulling  out 
his  watch,  detaching  it.  But,  as  it  happened,  the  valu- 
able gold  half -chronometer  he  possessed  had  been  left  at 
a  watch-maker's  for  cleaning.  He  wore  that  evening 
(on  a  leather  guard)  the  Waterbury  fifty-franc  thing  he 
used  to  take  with  him  on  his  fishing  expeditions.  Per- 
ceiving the  nature  of  this  booty,  the  well-dressed  robber 
made  a  contemptuous  clicking  sound  with  his  tongue 
like  this,  "Tse-Ah ! "  and  waved  it  away  hastily.  Then, 
as  the  Count  was  returning  the  disdained  object  to  his 
pocket,  he  demanded  with  a  threateningly  increased 
pressure  of  the  knife  on  the  epigastrum,  by  way  of 
reminder: 

"  Vostri  anelli.'* 

"One  of  the  rings,"  went  on  the  Count,  "was  given 
me  many  years  ago  by  my  wife;  the  other  is  the  signet 
ring  of  my  father.  I  said,  'No.  That  you  shall  not 
have!'" 

Here  the  Count  reproduced  the  gesture  correspond- 
ing to  that  declaration  by  clapping  one  hand  upon  the 
other,  and  pressing  both  thus  against  his  chest.  It 
was  touching  in  its  resignation.  "That  you  shall  not 
have,"  he  repeated  firmly  and  closed  his  eyes,  fully 
expecting — I  don't  know  whether  I  am  right  in  record- 
ing that  such  an  unpleasant  word  had  passed  his  lips — 
fully  expecting  to  feel  himself  being — I  really  hesitate  to 
say — being  disembowelled  by  the  push  of  the  long, 
sharp  blade  resting  murderously  against  the  pit  of  his 


IL  CONDE  349 

stomach — the  very  seat,  in  all  human  beings,  of 
anguishing  sensations. 

Great  waves  of  harmony  went  on  flowing  from  the 
band. 

Suddenly  the  Count  felt  the  nightmarish  pressure 
removed  from  the  sensitive  spot.  He  opened  his  eyes. 
He  was  alone.  He  had  heard  nothing.  It  is  probable 
that  the  "young  man"  had  departed,  with  light  steps, 
some  time  before,  but  the  sense  of  the  horrid  pressure 
had  lingered  even  after  the  knife  had  gone.  A  feeling 
of  weakness  came  over  him.  He  had  just  time  to 
stagger  to  the  garden  seat.  He  felt  as  though  he  had 
held  his  breath  for  a  long  time.  He  sat  all  in  a  heap, 
panting  with  the  shock  of  the  reaction. 

The  band  was  executing,  with  immense  bravura,  the 
complicated  finale.  It  ended  with  a  tremendous  crash. 
He  heard  it  unreal  and  remote,  as  if  his  ears  had  been 
stopped,  and  then  the  hard  clapping  of  a  thousand, 
more  or  less,  pairs  of  hands,  like  a  sudden  hail-shower 
passing  away.  The  profound  silence  which  succeeded 
recalled  him  to  himself. 

A  tramcar,  resembling  a  long  glass  box  wherein  people 
sat  with  their  heads  strongly  lighted,  ran  along  swiftly 
within  sixty  yards  of  the  spot  where  he  had  been  robbed. 
Then  another  rustled  by,  and  yet  another  going  the 
other  way.  The  audience  about  the  band  had  broken 
up,  and  were  entering  the  alley  in  small,  conversing 
groups.     The  Count  sat  up  straight  and  tried  to  think 


350  A  SET  OF  SIX 

calmly  of  what  had  happened  to  him.  The  vileness 
of  it  took  his  breath  away  again.  As  far  as  I  can  make 
it  out  he  was  disgusted  with  himself.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  with  his  behaviour.  Indeed,  if  his  pantomimic 
rendering  of  it  for  my  information  was  to  be  trusted, 
it  was  simply  perfect.  No,  it  was  not  that.  He  was 
not  ashamed.  He  was  shocked  at  being  the  selected 
victim,  not  of  robbery  so  much  as  of  contempt.  His 
tranquillity  had  been  wantonly  desecrated.  His  life- 
long, kindly  nicety  of  outlook  had  been  defaced. 

Nevertheless,  at  that  stage,  before  the  iron  had  time 
to  sink  deep,  he  was  able  to  argue  himself  into  com- 
parative equanimity.  As  his  agitation  calmed  down 
somewhat,  he  became  aware  that  he  was  frightfully 
hungry.  Yes,  hungry.  The  sheer  emotion  had  made 
him  simply  ravenous.  He  left  the  seat  and,  after  walk- 
ing for  some  time,  found  himself  outside  the  gardens 
and  before  an  arrested  tramcar,  without  knowing  very 
well  how  he  came  there.  He  got  in  as  if  in  a  dream,  by 
a  sort  of  instinct.  Fortunately  he  found  in  his  trouser 
pocket  a  copper  to  satisfy  the  conductor.  Then  the 
car  stopped,  and  as  everybody  was  getting  out  he  got 
out,  too.  He  recognized  the  Piazza  San  Ferdinando, 
but  apparently  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  take  a  cab  and 
drive  to  the  hotel.  He  remained  in  distress  on  the 
Piazza  like  a  lost  dog,  thinking  vaguely  of  the  best  way 
of  getting  something  to  eat  at  once. 

Suddenly   he  remembered   his   twenty-franc  piece. 


IL  CONDE  351 

He  explained  to  me  that  he  had  that  piece  of  French 
gold  for  something  like  three  years.  He  used  to  carry 
it  about  with  him  as  a  sort  of  reserve  in  case  of  accident. 
Anybody  is  liable  to  have  his  pocket  picked — a  quite 
different  thing  from  a  brazen  and  insulting  robbery. 

The  monumental  arch  of  the  Galleria  Umberto 
faced  him  at  the  top  of  a  noble  flight  of  stairs.  He 
climbed  these  without  loss  of  time,  and  directed  his 
steps  toward  the  Cafe  Umberto.  All  the  tables  outside 
were  occupied  by  a  lot  of  people  who  were  drinking. 
But  as  he  wanted  something  to  eat,  he  went  into 
the  cafe,  which  is  divided  into  aisles  by  square  pillars  set 
all  round  with  long  looking-glasses.  The  Count  sat 
down  on  a  red  plush  bench  against  one  of  these  pillars, 
waiting  for  his  risotto.  And  his  mind  reverted  to  his 
abominable  adventure. 

He  thought  of  the  moody,  well-dressed  young  man, 
with  whom  he  had  exchanged  glances  in  the  crowd 
around  the  bandstand,  and  who,  he  felt  confident,  was 
the  robber.  Would  he  recognize  him  again?  Doubt- 
less. But  he  did  not  want  ever  to  see  him  again.  The 
best  thing  was  to  forget  this  humiliating  episode. 

The  Count  looked  round  anxiously  for  the  coming  of 
his  risotto,  and,  behold,  to  the  left  against  the  wall — 
there  sat  the  young  man.  He  was  alone  at  a  table, 
with  a  bottle  of  some  sort  of  wine  or  syrup  and  a  carafe 
of  iced  water  before  him.  The  smooth  olive  cheeks,  the 
red  lips,  the  little  jet-black  moustache  turned  up  gal- 


352  A  SET  OF  SIX 

lantly,  the  fine  black  eyes  a  little  heavy  and  shaded  by 
long  eyelashes,  that  peculiar  expression  of  cruel  discon- 
tent to  be  seen  only  in  the  busts  of  some  Roman  emper- 
ors— it  was  he,  no  doubt  at  all.  But  that  was  a  type. 
The  Count  looked  away  hastily.  The  young  officer  over 
there  reading  a  paper  was  like  that,  too.  Same  type. 
Two  young  men  farther  away  playing  draughts  also 
resembled 

The  Count  lowered  his  head  with  the  fear  in  his  heart 
of  being  everlastingly  haunted  by  the  vision  of  that 
young  man.  He  began  to  eat  his  risotto.  Presently 
he  heard  the  young  man  on  his  left  call  the  waiter  in  a 
bad-tempered  tone. 

At  the  call,  not  only  his  own  waiter,  but  two  other 
idle  waiters  belonging  to  a  quite  different  row  of  tables, 
rushed  toward  him  with  obsequious  alacrity,  which  is 
not  the  general  characteristic  of  the  waiters  in  the  Cafe 
Umberto.  The  young  man  muttered  something,  and 
one  of  the  waiters  walking  rapidly  to  the  nearest  door 
called  out  into  the  Galleria:  "Pasquale!  0!  Pas- 
quale!" 

Everybody  knows  Pasquale,  the  shabby  old  fellow 
who,  shuffling  between  the  tables,  offers  for  sale  cigars, 
cigarettes,  picture  postcards,  and  matches  to  the  clients 
of  the  cafe.  He  is  in  many  respects  an  engaging 
scoundrel.  The  Count  saw  the  gray-haired,  unshaven 
ruffian  enter  the  cafe,  the  glass  case  hanging  from  his 
neck  by  a  leather  strap,  and,  at  a  word  from  the  waiter, 


IL  CONDE  353 

make  his  shuffling  way  with  a  sudden  spurt  to  the  young 
man's  table.  The  young  man  was  in  need  of  a  cigar 
with  which  Pasquale  served  him  fawningly.  The  old 
pedlar  was  going  out,  when  the  Count,  on  a  sudden 
impulse,  beckoned  to  him. 

Pasquale  approached,  the  smile  of  deferential  recog- 
nition combining  oddly  with  the  cynical,  searching  ex- 
pression of  his  eyes.  Leaning  his  case  on  the  table,  he 
lifted  the  glass  lid  without  a  word.  The  Count  took  a 
box  of  cigarettes  and  urged  by  a  fearful  curiosity, 
asked  as  casually  as  he  could: 

"Tell  me,  Pasquale,  who  is  that  young  signore  sitting 
over  there.''" 

The  other  bent  over  his  box  confidentially. 

"That,  Signor  Conde,"  he  said,  beginning  to  rearrange 
his  wares  busily  and  without  looking  up,  "that  is  a 
young  Cavaliere  of  a  very  good  family  from  Bari.  He 
studies  in  the  University  here,  and  is  the  chief,  capo,  of 
an  association  of  young  men — of  very  nice  young  men." 

He  paused,  and  then,  with  mingled  discretion  and 
pride  of  knowledge,  murmured  the  explanatory  word 
"Camorra"  and  shut  down  the  lid.  "A  very  power- 
ful Camorra,"  he  breathed  out.  "The  professors  them- 
selves respect  it  greatly  .  .  .  una  lira  e  cinquanii 
centesimi,  Signor  Conde.'^ 

Our  friend  paid  with  the  gold  piece.  While  Pasquale 
was  making  up  the  change,  he  observed  that  the  young 
man,  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  much  in  a  few  words. 


354  A  SET  OF  SIX 

was  watching  the  transaction  covertly.  After  the  old 
vagabond  had  withdrawn  with  a  bow,  the  Count  settled 
with  the  waiter  and  sat  still.  A  numbness,  he  told  me. 
had  come  over  him. 

The  young  man  paid,  too,  got  up  and  crossed  over, 
apparently  for  the  purpose  of  looking  at  himself  in  the 
mirror  set  in  the  pillar  nearest  to  the  Count's  seat.  He 
was  dressed  all  in  black  with  a  dark  green  bow  tie. 
The  Count  looked  round,  and  was  startled  by  meeting 
a  vicious  glance  out  of  the  corners  of  the  other's  eyes. 
The  young  Cavaliere  from  Bari  (according  to  Pasquale; 
but  Pasquale  is,  of  course,  an  accomplished  liar)  went 
on  arranging  his  tie,  settling  his  hat  before  the  glass, 
and  meantime  he  spoke  just  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
b}^  the  Count.  He  spoke  through  his  teeth  with  the 
most  insulting  venom  of  contempt  and  gazing  straight 
into  the  mirror. 

*'Ah!  So  you  have  some  gold  on  you — you  old  liar 
— you  old  hirha — you  furfante!  But  you  are  not  done 
with  me  yet." 

The  fiendishness  of  his  expression  vanished  like 
lightning,  and  he  lounged  out  of  the  cafe  with  a  moody, 
impassive  face. 

The  poor  Count,  after  telling  me  this  last  episode, 
fell  back  trembling  in  his  chair.  His  forehead  broke 
into  perspiration.  There  was  a  wanton  insolence  in 
the  spirit  of  this  outrage  which  appalled  even  me. 
What  it  was  to  the  Count's  delicacy  I  won't  attempt  to 


IL  CONDE  355 

guess.  I  am  sure  that  if  he  had  not  been  too  refined 
to  do  such  a  blatantly  vulgar  thing  as  dying  from 
apoplexy  in  a  cafe,  he  would  have  had  a  fatal  stroke 
there  and  then.  All  irony  apart,  my  difficulty  was 
to  keep  him  from  seeing  the  full  extent  of  my  com- 
miseration. He  shrank  from  every  excessive  sentiment, 
and  my  commiseration  was  practically  unbounded. 
It  did  not  surprise  me  to  hear  that  he  had  been  in  bed  a 
week.  He  had  got  up  to  make  his  arrangements  for 
leaving  southern  Italy  for  good  and  all. 

And  the  man  was  convinced  that  he  could  not  live 
through  a  whole  year  in  any  other  climate ! 

No  argument  of  mine  had  any  effect.  It  was  not 
timidity,  though  he  did  say  to  me  once:  "You  do  not 
know  what  a  Camorra  is,  my  dear  sir.  I  am  a  marked 
man."  He  was  not  afraid  of  what  could  be  done  to 
him.  His  delicate  conception  of  his  dignity  was  de- 
filed by  a  degrading  experience.  He  couldn't  stand 
that.  No  Japanese  gentleman,  outraged  in  his  exag- 
gerated sense  of  honour,  could  have  gone  about  his 
preparations  for  hara-kiri  with  greater  resolution.  To 
go  home  really  amounted  to  suicide  for  the  poor  Coimt. 

There  is  a  saying  of  Neapolitan  patriotism,  intended 
for  the  information  of  foreigners,  I  presume:  "See 
Naples  and  then  die."  Vedi  Napoli  e  poi  mori.  It  is 
a  saying  of  excessive  vanity,  and  everytliing  excessive 
was  abhorrent  to  the  nice  moderation  of  the  poor  Count. 
Yet,  as  I  was  seeing  him  off  at  the  railway  station,  I 


S56  A  SET  OF  SIX 

thought  he  was  behaving  with  singular  fidehty  to  its 
conceited  spirit.  Vedi  Napolil  .  .  .  He  had  seen 
it !  He  had  seen  it  with  startling  thoroughness — and  now 
he  was  going  to  his  grave.  He  was  going  to  it  by  the 
train  de  luxe  of  the  International  Sleeping  Car  Company, 
via  Trieste  and  Vienna.  As  the  four  long,  sombre 
coaches  pulled  out  of  the  station  I  raised  my  hat  with 
the  solemn  feeling  of  paying  the  last  tribute  of  respect  to 
a  funeral  cortege.  II  Conde's  profile,  much  aged  already, 
glided  away  from  me  in  stony  immobility,  behind  the 
lighted  pane  of  glass — Vedi  Napoli  e  poi  mori! 


THE  END 


THE  ROMANTIC  STORY 

OF 

JOSEPH  CONRAD 

I.   INTRODUCTORY 

II.      BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL 
III.      NOVELS  AND  STORIES 


THE  ROMANTIC  STORY 
OF  JOSEPH  CONRAD 


IN  1874  a  Polish  lad,  seventeen  years  of  age,  born  and 
brought  up  far  removed  from  sight  or  sound  of  the 
ocean,  determined  to  go  to  sea.  It  had  been  the  dream 
of  his  boyhood.  Standing  as  a  child  before  a  map  of 
the  world  he  had  placed  his  finger  upon  it  saying: 
"I  shall  go  there",  there  being  the  Congo.  And  to  the 
Congo  he  finally  went.  In  the  face  of  strong  parental 
opposition  the  lad  actually  went  to  sea,  shipping  at 
Marseilles.  After  three  years'  service  he  put  foot  for 
the  first  time  on  English  soil.  He  spoke  French 
fluently  in  addition  to  his  native  tongue,  but  not  one 
word  of  English  did  he  know. 

Sixteen  years  later,  or  in  1894,  after  continuous 
service  in  the  British  Merchant  Marine,  this  same  lad, 
then  a  man  of  thirty-seven,  quit  the  sea  for  good  with 
the  manuscript  of  an  unfinished  novel  in  his  bag.  Till 
then  the  novel  had  had  but  one  reader,  beside  the 
author:  a  young  Cambridge  student,  outward  bound 
to  Australia,  who  died  shortly  after  the  vessel  touched. 
Are  you  curious  to  know  the  name  of  this  PoUsh  sailor 
just  stepping  ashore  and  destined  to  begin  a  new  career 
strangely  diflFerent  from  his  sea  life?  Would  you  like 
to  know  what  became  of  the  manuscript  he  had  in  his 
bag — what  its  name  was? 

The  manuscript  was  that  of  "  Almayer's  Folly". 

The  sailor-author,  by  that  time  a  naturalized  British 
subject  and  many  times  oflBcer  and  master  of  various 
craft,  was  Joseph  Conrad. 


Comment  can  lend  little  to  the  essential  romance 
of  these  facts.  They  are  of  the  unbelievable  things — a 
web  spun  of  chance  such  as  Conrad  himself  has  woven  in 
his  tales.  \Miat  more  improbable  than  that  a  Polish 
youth,  born  inland,  should  have  a  passion  for  a  sea- 
faring life;  that  he  should  choose  English  for  his  speech 
above  the  Polish  and  French  that  he  knew;  that  he 
should  set  down,  in  the  odd  moments  of  a  sailor's 
busy  life,  and  in  grave  doubt  of  its  worth,  a  story  of 
his  adventures  in  the  Malayan  Archipelago;  and  that 
this  book,  when  completed,  should  mark  his  entrance 
as  a  permanent  figure  into  English  literature?  And 
yet  this  is  precisely  what  happened  to  Joseph  Conrad. 

Some  of  the  remarkable  features  of  his  case  struck 
his  examiner  when  he  presented  himself  for  a  com- 
mission in  the  British  merchant  service,  for  the  official 
asked : 

"You  are  of  Polish  extraction?"  And  then:  "Not 
many  of  your  nationality  in  our  service.  .  .  .  An 
inland  people,  aren't  you?" 

Upon  which  Conrad  comments:  "Very  much  so. 
We  were  remote  from  the  sea,  not  only  by  situation, 
but  also  from  a  complete  absence  of  indirect  communi- 
cation, not  being  a  commercial  nation  at  all,  but  purely 
agricultural." 

During  the  sixteen  years  of  his  life  at  sea  Conrad 
visited  almost  every  corner  of  the  globe  except  North 
America.  A  chart,  just  completed,  of  the  location  of 
his  stories  indicates  China,  India,  the  Malay  Archi- 
pelago, Sumatra,  Australia,  South  America,  both  West 
and  East  coasts,  the  West  Indies,  the  Congo,  the  Red 
Sea,  Spain,  France,  England,  and  Russia. 

On  a  large  part  of  his  journeyings,  now  as  ordinary 
seaman,  then  officer,  and  finally  master,  the  manu- 


script  of  "  Almayer^s  Folly"  accompanied  Conrad,  grow- 
ing a  little  at  a  time.  It  was  begun  when  he  was 
about  thirty-two  and  was  still  unfinished  when  he  came 
ashore  in  1894,  broken  in  health  by  a  terrible  experi- 
ence in  the  Congo.  The  story  was  completed  a  short 
time  later  and  we  learn  from  G.  F.  W.  Hope,  an  old  sea 
friend  of  Conrad's  who  sailed  in  the  Duke  of  Suther- 
land, that  Conrad  came  occasionally  to  the  Hope 
home  nearby  in  Essex  County  to  read  portions  of  the 
story  aloud  to  them.  It  is  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hope  that 
"Lord  Jim"  is  dedicated. 

How  "Abnayer's  Folly''  was  read  by  Edward 
Garnett  for  an  English  publisher  and  issued  in  1895; 
and  how  Conrad's  first  substantial  recognition  came 
in  1897  when  W.  E.  Henley  published  "The  Nigger 
of  the  'Narcissus'  "  in  The  New  Review  (inexplicably 
suppressing  a  preface  which  has  since  become  a  classic 
as  the  artist's  profession  of  faith!)  are  all  chapters  in 
the  amazing  story  of  Joseph  Conrad — a  story  that 
surpasses  in  romantic  realism  anything  that  he  has 
written. 

For  the  last  two  or  three  years  the  influence  of 
Joseph  Conrad  has  been  growing  steadily  in  this 
country.  There  has  been  a  widespread  awakening  to 
the  wonder  and  beauty  and  fascination  of  his  tales. 
Everywhere  one  finds  him  spoken  of,  but  for  the  most 
part  merely  as  the  author  of  this  or  that  book  and  with 
only  meagre  information  of  his  own  extraordinary  life. 
Now  it  is  quite  true  that  one  can  read  and  under- 
stand and  enjoy  Joseph  Conrad's  stories  without  any 
knowledge  of  his  personal  history.  He  needs  no  inter- 
preter— his  books  require  no  key.  Talk  to  the  con- 
trary is  stupid  and  uninformed,  and  chiefly  thn  result 
of  ignorance  of   his   stories.     No   writer  of   English 


touches  more  directly  or  more  surely   the  abiding 
human  emotions. 

At  the  same  time  it  is  diflScult  to  think  of  any  other 
great  writer  at  all  comparable  to  Conrad  between 
whose  chosen  work  and  whose  writing  there  appears  to 
be  such  a  complete  volte-face,  and  yet  between  which 
there  is  so  real  a  dependence  and  gracious  spiritual  re- 
lation. Conrad  is  not  just  "writing  stories";  his  books 
in  very  truth  are  fruits  in  the  spiritual  order  of  the 
grace  of  the  sea;  they  are  acts  of  piety  to  the  memory 
of  those  days  when  chance,  blind  and  inscrutable, 
marked  him  with  the  indelible  sign  of  the  sea.  That 
is  the  illumination  for  all  who  will  read  the  record  of 
Joseph  Conrad's  life.  And  having  once  grasped  this 
truth,  his  stories  are  forever  unfolding  in  one's  mind 
unguessed  meanings  full  of  the  loveliness  of  mirrored 
youth,  of  that  "something  sentient  which  seems  to  dwell 
in  ships",  and  of  a  filial  devotion  to  the  life  of  the  sea. 

The  biographical  matter  that  follows,  together  with 
the  summary  of  the  books,  is  taken  in  a  much  condensed 
form  from  Richard  Curie's  ''Joseph  Conrad",  a  recent 
work  which  it  will  well  repay  the  reader  to  consult  in 
connection  with  Conrad's  stories. 

E.  F.  Saxton. 

n 

Biographical  and  Autobiographical 

{Condensed  from  Richard  Curie's  *' Joseph  Conrad") 

Teodor  Jozef  Konrad  Korzeniowski  was  born  in  the 
Ukraine  in  the  South  of  Poland  on  6th  December,  1857. 
In  1861  he  removed  to  Warsaw  with  his  parents,  and 
in  186*2  his  father,  who  had  been  deeply  implicated  in 
the  last  Polish  rebellion,  was  banished  to  Vologda  by 
the  Russian  Government.     His  wife  and  son  followed 


him  into  exile.  In  1865  Conrad's  mother  died  and  his 
father  sent  him  back  to  the  Ukraine  to  stay  with  his 
maternal  uncle  (who  is  spoken  of  with  such  affectionate 
regard  in  "Some  Reminiscences")*,  where  he  remained 
for  five  years.  That  was  the  happiest  period  of  Con- 
rad's childhood — this  home  life  of  the  country  con- 
sciously enjoyed  and  revelled  in.  Conrad's  first 
recollection  of  public  matters  was  the  liberation  of  the 
serfs,  on  the  committee  of  which  his  uncle  was  one  of 
the  leading  spirits.  In  1869  Conrad's  father  was  freed 
on  the  ground  that  he  was  too  ill  to  be  dangerous  any 
longer.  He  carried  off  his  son  to  Cracow,  the  old 
Polish  capital,  and  died  there  in  1870.  Conrad  was 
sent  to  the  gj'mnasium  of  St.  Anne,  the  foremost  public 
school  of  the  city.  There  he  came  under  the  care  of  a 
tutor  who  influenced  him  profoundly  and  who,  accord- 
ing to  "Some  Reminiscences",  was  a  man  of  remarkable 
intuition.  He  was  put  forward  by  the  relations  to 
counteract  Conrad's  strange  and  inborn  desire  for  a 
sea-life,  but  after  some  earnest  and  futile  talks  he 
realized  that  his  efforts  would  be  useless  and  ceased 
to  trouble  the  boy. 

Conrad's  decision  was,  indeed,  final.  Brought  up 
in  a  country  without  a  coast,  in  a  society  where  he 
saw  no  English  (though  he  knew  some  of  the  finest 
English  literature  from  translations  by  his  father),  he 
had  yet  resolved  that  he  would  be  an  English  seaman 
of  the  merchant  service.  And  against  all  obstacles  he 
carried  out  his  plan.  It  was  in  1874  that  he  went  to 
sea.  Marseilles  was  his  "  jumping-off  ground",  but  it 
was  some  years  before  he  was  able  to  sail  under  the 
Red  Ensign.     For  it  was  not  till  three  years  later  that 

•Published  in  the  United  States  under  the  title  "A  Personal 
Record." 


he  set  foot  in  England.  Before  that  he  had  some  ad- 
ventures in  the  Mediterranean  and  had  twice  been  to 
the  West  Indies.  He  calls  this  his  wild-oats-sowing 
period.  In  May,  1878,  he  landed  at  Lowestoft  and  first 
touched  English  soil.  At  that  time  he  did  not  know  a 
word  of  Enghsh,  but  he  learnt  it  rapidly,  being  helped 
in  a  general  sense,  to  some  extent,  by  a  local  boat- 
builder  who  understood  French.  For  five  months 
he  was  on  board  a  Lowestoft  coaster.  The  Skimmer  of 
the  Seas,  that  traded  between  that  port  and  Newcastle. 
In  October,  1878,  he  joined  the  Duke  of  Sutherland, 
bound  for  Australia,  as  ordinary  seaman.  Of  eighteen 
men  before  the  mast  all  were  English  save  Conrad, 
a  Norwegian,  two  Americans,  and  a  St.  Kitts  negro 
called  James  Wait — a  name  used  just  twenty  years 
later  for  the  negro  in  "The  Nigger  of  the  'Narcissus.'" 

From  now  onward  till  1894,  when  he  finally  left 
the  sea,  Conrad's  life  was  the  usual  life  of  a  deep  water 
seaman.  He  passed  for  second  mate  in  1879  and  be- 
came a  Master  in  the  English  Merchant  Service  in  the 
year  of  his  naturalization  in  1884.  In  1890  and  again 
in  1894  (the  year  before  his  uncle's  death)  he  revisited 
the  Ukraine. 

I  think  I  cannot  give  a  better  glimpse  of  Conrad's 
existence  during  all  these  years  than  by  jotting  down, 
in  order,  a  rough  list  of  the  ships  he  served  in,  either  as 
oiBScer  or  in  command,  from  1880  till  1894.  This  is  a 
list  I  scribbled  from  Conrad's  dictation,  and  against 
each  name  he  has  added  the  titles  of  those  stories  of 
his  which  the  different  ships  suggest.  Of  course  this 
must  be  taken  for  what  it  is  worth — a  single  episode, 
perhaps  only  a  single  name,  in  a  story  may  be  associated 
with  a  certain  ship,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  the  whole 
story  may  be  strongly  autobiographical  and  reminis- 


cent.  And  then,  again,  different  memories  are  some- 
times welded  together  into  one  story.  In  "Chance", 
for  instance,  there  is  an  episode  connected  with  the 
Riversdale  and  another  connected  with  the  Torrens. 
However,  here  is  the  list:  I  give  the  ships,  and  then, 
in  brackets,  I  give  the  stories  they  individually  call 
up  in  Conrad's  mind. 


S.S.  Loch-Etive 
Palestine  . 
Riversdale 

Narcissus  . 


S.S.  John  P.  Best 
Tilkhurst   . 
Falconhurst 
Highland  Forest 

S.S.  Vidar 


Otago    . 

S.S.  Roi  de  Beiges 
Torrens 

S.S.  Adowa. 


("The  Mirror  of  the  Sea"). 

("Youth"). 

("The  Mirror  of  the  Sea"; 
"Chance"). 

("The  Nigger  of  the  Nar- 
cissus"; "The  IMirror  of 
the  Sea"). 

("Typhoon"). 

("The  Mirror  of  the  Sea"). 

("The  Mirror  of  the  Sea"). 

("The  Mirror  of  the  Sea"). 

(All  the  Malay  books;  "Ty- 
phoon " ;  "Some  Remi- 
niscences"). 

("Falk";  "'Twixt  Land  and 
Sea";  "The  Mirror  of 
the  Sea";  "Some  Remi- 
niscences"). 

("An  Outpost  of  Progress"; 
"Heart    of    Darkness"). 

("Chance";  "The  Mirror  of 
the  Sea";  "Some  Remi- 
niscences"). 

("Some    Reminiscences"). 


In  1894,  Conrad  finally  left  the  sea.     He  had  never 
fully  recovered  from  a  severe  fever  that  had  invalided 


him  from  the  Congo,  and  his  health  was  now  more  or 
less  broken.  He  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  himself 
(he  had  still  some  idea  of  going  to  sea  again) ,  but,  almost 
as  an  afterthought,  he  sent  in  to  Fisher  Unwin  the  novel 
which  he  had  begun  about  1889  and  which  he  had 
completed  in  odd  moments — the  novel  of  "Almayer's 
Folly".  After  waiting  for  three  or  four  months  he 
heard,  to  his  intense  surprise,  that  it  was  accepted 
(Edward  Garnett,  as  reader,  was  responsible)  and  from 
henceforward  his  life  is  mainly  the  history  of  his  books, 
and  does  not  concern  us.  I  will  just  add  that  he 
married  in  1896  and  has  since  lived  mostly  in  Kent 
where  he  still  resides.  The  turmoil  of  a  creator's 
existence  has  no  outward  adventure  save  the  merit  and 
reception  of  his  creations,  and  in  that  (amongst  other 
things)  it  differs  from  the  wild  and  vigorous  life  of  the 
sea.  For  long  Conrad  was  only  the  novelist  of  a  small 
following  (it  was  a  landmark  in  his  career  when  Henley 
accepted  "The  Nigger  of  the  Narcissus"  for  The  New 
Review  in  1897),  but,  as  every  one  knows,  that  following 
has  widened  and  widened  till  it  now  represents  the 
whole  intellectual  world. 

Of  Conrad's  two  books  of  memories  and  impressions, 
"The  Mirror  of  the  Sea"  (1906)  is  the  first.  It  may 
be  described  as  a  sort  of  prose-poem  about  the  sea,  and 
a  poem  founded  not  alone  upon  flights  of  imagery  but 
upon  profound  realism  and  knowledge  of  detail.  Its 
basis  of  personal  reminiscence  expands  in  the  rare 
qualities  of  poetry  and  romance.  "The  Mirror  of  the 
Sea"  is  the  most  eloquent  of  all  Conrad's  books. 

"Some  Reminiscences"  (American  ed.  "A  Personal 
Record  "),  1912,  followed  six  years  later.  Less  eloquent 
than  "The  Mirror  of  the  Sea,  "it  is  more  urbane  and  more 
closely  knit.     His  descriptions  of  people  such  as  his 


uncle,  his  tutor,  and  the  original  of  Almayer,  are  telling 
in  the  accuracy  and  detail  of  the  portraits,  and  the  whole 
book  is  enlivened  by  the  firm  lightness  of  his  touch. 
Moreover,  it  contains  passages  of  exceptional  splendor. 
To  read  these  books  sympathetically  is  to  under- 
stand Conrad's  attitude  toward  life  and  art.  His 
works  should  never  again  be  mysterious  to  us,  as  the 
works  of  the  few  men  of  real  temperamental  genius 
are  so  apt  to  be.  No,  these  two  books  of  Conrad's 
are  the  true  "open  sesame"  to  his  novels  and  stories. 

m 

Novels  and  Stories 

{Condensed  from   Richard   Curie's   "Joseph   Conrad") 

Up  to  the  present  Conrad  has  published  ten  novels 
(two  of  them  in  collaboration  with  Ford  Madox 
Hueflfer)  and  five  volumes  of  stories.  I  will  examine 
his  own  novels  to  begin  with. 

His  first  book  is  "Almayer's  Folly"  (1895).  This 
"story  of  an  Eastern  River"  is  one  of  illusion,  weariness, 
and  irresistible  passion.  Almayer  is  the  white  trader, 
the  only  white  trader,  of  Sambir,  a  distant  and  obscure 
settlement  up  the  river  Pantai  of  an  island  in  the  Dutch 
East  Indies.  It  is  not  one  of  Conrad's  easiest  stories 
to  read.  But  it  is  an  imposing  effort  of  its  kind,  this 
sinister  revelation  of  a  tropical  backwater. 

Conrad's  next  book  is  "An  Outcast  of  the  Islands" 
(1896).  This  is  another  tragic  story  of  Sambir  and 
the  Pantai,  and  it  would  be  almost  better  to  consider 
it  before  "Almayer's  Folly"  because  it  treats  of  a  date 
fifteen  to  twenty  years  anterior  to  that  novel.  In  "An 
Outcast  of  the  Islands"  Almayer  is  still  young.     The 


story  is  one  of  violent  emotion  soon  spent — like  a 
tropical  downpour.  There  is  scheming  in  it,  hatred, 
and  passion.  As  in  "Almayer's  Folly"  the  teeming, 
patient,  and  silent  life  of  the  wilds  weighs  upon  every 
person  and  thing,  coloring  the  whole  aspect  of  nature 
not  only  in  a  material  but  in  a  spiritual  sense. 

"The  Nigger  of  the  Narcissus''  (1899)  is  Conrad'j' 
third  novel.  It  is  the  story  of  one  voyage  of  the  sailing- 
ship  Narcissus  from  Bombay  to  London — a  story 
dealing  with  calms  and  with  storms,  with  mutiny  on 
the  high  seas,  with  bravery  and  with  cowardice,  with 
tumultuous  life,  and  with  death,  the  releaser  from  toil. 
This  is  one  of  Conrad's  most  original  conceptions. 
He  alone  has  ever  written  such  a  book.  It  has  the 
vividness  of  an  actual  experience  touched  by  the 
magic  glitter  of  remembrance.  The  descriptions  of  the 
sea  and  of  the  life  on  board  are  strangely  beautiful. 

"Lord  Jim"  (1900)  is  fourth  in  the  list.  It  is  a 
story  of  remorse  and  of  the  effort  to  regain  self-respect 
for  a  deed  of  fatal  and  unexpected  cowardice.  The 
sea  and  secluded  Eastern  settlements  are  the  back- 
ground. There  can  be  little  doubt  that  Conrad's  fame 
as  a  novelist  rests  chiefly  upon  "Lord  Jim".  And 
perhaps  the  main  reason  for  this  is  that  it  raises  a 
fierce  moral  issue  in  a  very  definite  form  and  carries  it 
through  on  a  high  level  of  creative  intensity. 

"Nostromo"  (1903)  is  the  fifth  novel  by  Conrad. 
It  is  the  history  of  a  South  American  revolution.  But 
on  this  leading  theme  there  hang  a  multitude  of  side- 
issues  and  of  individual  experiences.  In  this  story  of 
vast  riches,  of  unbridled  passions,  of  patriotism,  of 
greed,  of  barbaric  cruelty,  of  the  most  debased  and  of 
the  most  noble  impulses,  the  whole  history  of  South 
America  seems  to  be  epitomized. 


"Nostromo"  is  Conrad's  longest  novel,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  it  is  by  far  his  greatest.  It  is  a  book  singularly 
little  known  and  one  which  many  people  find  a  difficulty 
in  reading  (probably  owing  to  the  confused  way  in 
which  time  is  indicated),  but  it  is  one  of  the  most 
astounding  tours  de  force  in  all  literature.  For  sheer 
creative  genius  it  overtops  all  Conrad's  work. 

In  contrast  to  "Nostromo",  "The  Secret  Agent" 
(1907)  is  a  comparatively  simple  book.  It  is  a  novel 
treating  of  the  underworld  of  London  life — the  under- 
world of  anarchists  and  spies.  Verloc,  "the  secret 
agent,"  is  ostensibly  an  anarchist,  but  in  reality  a  spy 
of  one  of  the  big  embassies. 

"Under  Western  Eyes"  (1911)  gets  its  name  from 
the  fact  that  it  is  told  by  an  old  English  teacher  of 
languages  in  Geneva,  partly  in  his  own  words  and  partly 
from  a  diary.  The  book  is  written  with  great  precision 
and  subtlety  of  language,  and  marks  a  step  forward 
in  Conrad's  exactitude  of  style.  The  description  of 
the  winter  night  of  Russia,  of  the  Russian  colony  in 
Geneva,  and  of  the  sister  and  mother  of  Haldin  are 
particularly  striking. 

"Chance"  (1911)  is  Conrad's  latest  novel.  As  its 
name  implies,  the  irony  of  chance  is  the  leading  link 
of  the  whole  structure.  This  is  probably  the  hardest 
of  Conrad's  books  about  which  one  can  make  any 
conclusive  judgment.  Admirers  of  his  earlier  work 
may  consider  it  almost  arid,  but  that  is  simply  to 
misunderstand  the  recent  development  of  Conrad's  art. 
For  the  truth  is  that  "Chance"  is  a  work  of  the  finest 
shades  and  of  the  highest  tension.  It  is  the  most 
finished  of  all  his  books. 

^Yith  "Chance"  we  come  to  the  end  of  the  novels 
written  solely  by  Conrad.       There  still  remain  to  be 


considered  the  two  novels  he  wrote  in  conjunction 
with  Ford  Hueffer,  but  before  examining  them  I  will 
say  something  about  his  five  volumes  of  stories. 

The  first  of  these  is  "  Tales  of  Unrest "  ( 1 898) .  There 
are  five  stories  in  this  book —  "Karain",  "The  Idiots", 
"An  Outpost  of  Progress",  "The  Return",  and  "The 
Lagoon".  The  most  remarkable  is  "The  Return", 
which  is  well  seconded  by  "An  Outpost  of  Progress". 
The  most  beautiful  is  certainly  "The  Lagoon"  (it  is 
particularly  interesting  from  the  fact  that  it  is  the  first 
short  story  Conrad  ever  wrote),  while  "Karain"  is  the 
sunniest,  and  "The  Idiots"  the  most  realistic. 

"Youth"  (1902)  comes  next  in  order.  It  is  as 
famous  amongst  Conrad's  volumes  of  stories  as  "Lord 
Jim"  is  amongst  his  novels — and  more  deservedly  so. 
For  it  contains  in  "Youth"  the  most  romantic,  in 
"Heart  of  Darkness"  the  most  terrible,  and  in  "The 
End  of  the  Tether"  the  most  pathetic  story  Conrad 
has  ever  written.  "Youth",  itself,  is  certainly  one  of 
the  very  finest  things  in  Conrad,  a  gorgeous  dream,  a 
\'ision  of  the  rare  and  transient  illusion  of  youth. 

"Typhoon"  (1903)  is  Conrad's  third  volume  of 
stories.*  It  is  made  up  of  four  tales:  "Typhoon", 
"Amy  Foster",  "Falk",  "To-morrow".  The  first 
and  longest  of  these  is,  as  its  name  implies,  the  de- 
scription of  a  storm — a  typhoon  in  the  China  Seas. 
"Typhoon",  itself,  is  the  most  prodigious  description 
of  a  storm  in  the  whole  of  literature.  As  a  piece  of 
word-painting  it  is  unrivalled,  and  it  is  at  the  same 
time  a  notable  study  in  psychology  and  contains  some 
of  Conrad's  cleverest  character  drawing  on  a  small 

•Note:  In  the  American  Edition  "  Typhoon"  is  published  sepa- 
rately, while  the  volume  entitled  "Falk"  contains  the  story  of  that 
name  along  with  "Amy  Foster"  and  "To-morrow." 


scale.  "Amy  Foster",  on  the  other  hand,  has  the 
sober  atmosphere  of  Conrad's  later  method.  It  is  a 
delicate,  faithful,  and  precise  picture.  "Falk"  has 
the  fertile  elaboration  of  Conrad's  most  expansive  work. 
It  is  a  study  in  personality  and  atmosphere  that  exhales 
the  warm  breath  of  a  tropical  Eastern  river.  "To- 
morrow" is  a  very  poignant  study,  and  one  touched 
by  the  breath  of  symbolism. 

"A  Set  of  SLx"  (1908)  is  the  next  collection  of  stories. 
The  six  tales  of  this  book  present  a  striking  change  in 
Conrad's  technique.  Their  atmosphere  of  romance 
tends  to  the  inward  contemplation  of  a  mood  rather 
than  the  piling  up  of  substantial  effect.  They  are, 
in  many  externals,  very  unlike  his  earlier  work.  Of 
the  individual  stories,  "Caspar  Ruiz"  is  hardly  con- 
vincing— especially  in  its  later  phases ;  "  The  Informer  '* 
is  sardonically  icy;  "The  Brute",  "An  Anarchist", 
and  "II  Conde"  are  pathetic,  exciting,  and  beautifully 
proportioned;  "The  Duel"  is  a  work  of  wide  imagina- 
tive impulse — a  wonderful  reconstruction  of  the  Na- 
poleonic atmosphere.  As  a  sustained  effort  in  Conrad's 
sardonic  later  style  "The  Duel"  is  unmatched. 

Conrad's  most  recent  volume  of  stories  is  "  'Twixt 
Land  and  Sea"  (1912),  and  it  contains  three  tales — 
"A  Smile  of  Fortune",  "The  Secret  Sharer",  and 
"Freya  of  the  Seven  Islands."  In  subject  and  tech- 
nique these  three  stories  are  a  return  to  Conrad's 
earlier  work  while  they  retain  the  finish  of  his  later 
period.  The  style  is  extremely  distinguished  and  the 
psychology  subtle  without  being  at  all  overdone.  The 
first  of  them,"  A  Smile  of  Fortune",  is  a  very  uncommon 
study  in  the  bizarre  backwaters  of  character.  As  for 
"The  Secret  Sharer",  that  is  certainly  a  marvelous 
creation  in  atmosphere  and  in  the  psychology'  of  the 


hunted.  The  last  and  longest  tale,  "Freya  of  the 
Seven  Islands",  is,  perhaps,  the  most  painful  Conrad 
has  ever  written.  There  is  something  deeply  melan- 
choly in  this  drama  set  amidst  the  treacherous  splendor 
of  Eastern  Seas. 

I  will  say  a  few  words  now  about  the  two  novels  in 
the  writing  of  which  Conrad  collaborated  with  Ford 
Hueffer.  The  first  of  these  is  "The  Inheritors"  (1901). 
It  is  a  fantastic  story  about  a  new  race  of  people, 
dwellers  in  a  fourth  dimension,  who  mix  indistinguish- 
ably  with  ordinary  mortals  and  gradually  oust  them 
from  all  positions  of  supreme  power.  The  internal 
evidence  of  Conrad's  collaboration  is  slight — visible, 
indeed,  only  in  the  negative  qualities  of  proportion 
and  restraint. 

"Romance"  (1903)  stands  on  a  very  different  footing. 
As  far  as  I  can  judge  Conrad  must  have  had  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  the  middle  part  of  this  book.  It  is  a 
novel  of  adventure  of  ninety  years  since,  starting  with 
an  exploit  amongst  smugglers  on  the  Kentish  coast, 
and  then  taking  the  young  hero,  John  Kemp,  to 
Jamaica  and  on  to  Cuba  where  he  undergoes  incredible 
hardships  and  dangers,  and  gains  the  love  of  a  Spanish 
girl  of  startling  beauty  and  fabulous  wealth.  There 
are  plots  and  counterplots  on  every  page  and  murderous 
pirates,  there  are  deaths,  and  there  is  revenge,  and 
always  there  is  danger  and  passionate  love.  It  is  a 
sheer  novel  of  adventure,  and  the  glory  of  it  lies  in  its 
color  and  shifting  lights. 


THE  COUNTRY  LITE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  T. 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OK  (  AI.IFORMA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DIE  ON  THE  EAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


lOOM  11/86  Series  9482 


A  A  001  430  260  8 

II II  mi  III 


3  1205  01039  1884 


DR     H.ENRY   GOLDMAN 

FINE    BOOKS 

703    t-2    W.    6TH    St. 

LOS  Angeles 


r  K'RNTANO'S       j 


